Legacy
by Lady Lear
Summary: The Star Force returns from Iscandar. The time to rebuild is at hand. Earth's children must emerge from their underground cities and take their place in the sun. However, before they can move forward, they must break the ties to their shattered pasts.
1. Chapter 1 Homecoming

Title: Legacy, Chapter 1 – Homecoming

Author: C. Lear

Rating: PG or K

Story Summary: The Star Force returns from Iscandar with its precious cargo, but it's just the beginning. The time to recover and rebuild is at hand. The children of Earth must emerge from their underground cities and take their place in the sun. However, before they can move forward, they must break the ties to their shattered and broken pasts.

Chapter Summary: The Argo returns home following its mission to Iscandar. They are finally within the welcoming reaches of Earth's atmosphere, but even the most carefully orchestrated plans can fall apart and they could lose one of their own.

Author's Notes: Enjoy! Feedback is welcome!

Warnings: None.

Pairing(s)/Characters: None

Disclaimer: Star Blazers is owned by Voyager Entertainment

Beta Reader: Sybil Rowan! My awesome beta reader!

Date Written: July 2009

Word Count: 3,199

Much like the pilots of old, the landing demanded the greatest attention to detail. It was said, pilots landing on a carrier in the middle of the ocean at night exhibited greater stress and higher heart rates than when they were in battle.

Reentering the Earth's atmosphere was comparable. It was enough to put a pilot's adrenaline and heart rate into overdrive. The pilot's workload was just as high through the dicey period of coordinated deceleration, when the pilot positioned his tiny craft to endure the grueling temperatures of reentry.

Fighters were small, lightweight, and built for stability at high air speeds in an atmosphere. They were unforgiving of careless mistakes at low reentry speeds. Thus, autopilot was not a substitute for the sharp observations of a fighter pilot if something went awry. Pilots were trained to rely on computer-generated coordinates to plot the reentry corridor, but protocol demanded they maintain their trajectory and projected angle-of-attack by hand.

Coordinated deceleration by hand was like balancing on a tightrope for a fighter pilot. It was a delicate dance, a fragile partnership. The coordinating jets, the main engine, the ailerons, the flaps, the rudder, every control surface of the fighter was fully intertwined with the mental and physical demands of the pilot. This was all to maintain the tenuous balance and the high angle of attack for reentry. If the nose or a wing dipped too low, if there was a slight meander off course, it left the scantily armored topside of the fighter vulnerable to the unforgiving temperatures of reentry.

Peter Conroy and his wingman, Jefferson Hardy, concluded a general sweep of the area around the Argo's projected reentry corridor. Hardy confirmed the area was free of any suspicious activity. This was the signal for the crew of the Argo. It was time to begin their preparations for the countdown. They were almost home.

The small group of fighters would begin their decent before the Argo and sweep the surface of the Earth along the reentry corridor for signs of enemy activity. The Argo would follow; then another small group of fighters would watch from orbit during the Argo's decent.

Morale was high among the exhausted crew, but so was caution and security. This was the last leg of a tenuous, yearlong journey. Checks and balances were meticulous and repetitious. They did not come all this way to fall prey to another surprise attack, especially during a routine landing. Sometimes, careful coordination and the meticulous management of details were not enough. Mistakes occurred, and compounded quickly, despite every effort to plan for them.

* * *

To the casual observer, Peter Conroy appeared to have a reckless bravado when it came to flying. He seemed to have a careless confidence balanced only by sheer luck. It was how they explained his survival, considering the chances he took. The crew of the Argo admired his abilities. They knew flying was somehow second nature to him. Conroy took risks, but they were carefully calculated.

All of his senses were engaged and heightened when he was in the cockpit. His body knew the vibration of the engine. His ears knew the whirring pitch of the instruments. His hands knew the proper responsiveness of the controls. He knew them so well, he could pinpoint a failing instrument before it displayed external signs of fatigue. It was unnerving to his mechanics; they often accused him of having some sort of psychic ability.

Conroy would smile at the prodding. "These fighters are talking all the time," he would say, "It's just a matter of learning how to listen."

He often kept his cockpit pressurized and his helmet faceplate retracted, so he could hear and smell the environment around him. His basic flight training warned of the dangers of explosive decompression during battle. Conroy and Wildstar often argued the point. Wildstar was against the pressurized cockpit during flight. Conroy compromised and didn't pressurize his cockpit during battle. On long patrols, however, he insisted it was essential for maintaining the health of the fighter. Instruments and gauges couldn't account for everything that could go wrong.

This long-held argument between them went on for months during the mission. That is, until Conroy complained of an odd, burning smell inside the cockpit after a long patrol. The mechanics went over the fighter, trying to detect the burning smell themselves. They targeted the usual suspects, such as electrical conduit, burning insulation, faulty fuses or burned out LED's, but they found nothing that would generate the burning smell Conroy described.

Conroy insisted they go over the fighter again. The chief mechanic spoke at length with Conroy. It wasn't electrical and it wasn't burning insulation. It was something he hadn't encountered before. The Chief eyed him with some hesitation. Then, reluctantly, he made the next sweep.

The cockpit of the fighter was dissected with great precision. Panels, instruments, handfuls of wire, even the ejection seat decorated the floor of the maintenance hanger. The flight crew could hardly approach the fighter without stepping on a piece of it.

Conroy remained involved in the entire process at the expense of sleep. He perched himself in his disconnected ejection seat, inspecting parts for damage and inquiring after the mechanics about the function of things he hadn't seen before. Because he was in his element, time slipped by without effort.

It was much later when the Chief emerged from the cockpit and asked Conroy to stand up from the ejection seat. The Chief turned the seat over and immediately found curious holes melted in the bottom panel. He had found similar damage in the floor of the cockpit between the fittings for the ejection seat. The source of the problem was finally discovered after the damaged panel of the seat was removed.

The ELT, or the Emergency Locater Transmitter, was an important element in the survival of a downed pilot. It was simple and reliable technology. Thus, it was never redesigned for the harsh realities of working in the vacuum of space. In an effort to rapidly design and build a fighter, which could compete with a strange new enemy, this tiny factor was overlooked.

The ELT was a self-sufficient unit attached under the ejection seat. When the ejection seat was activated, so was the emergency beacon. It guided rescue personnel to the location of the pilot. Otherwise, it remained dormant, snugly enclosed in the insulated wiring which was essential for the separation of the ejection seat from the fighter.

The chief mechanic was horrified to discover the essential wiring under the ejection seat was compromised by battery acid from the ruptured cells of the ELT. Conroy was right, the burning smell was not electrical; it was chemical.

The ELT was not checked during a pilot's preflight. The mechanics were responsible for checking its condition during regular maintenance inspections, which occurred every 50 hours of flight time. It was buried, difficult to access, and difficult to inspect. It could be easily missed. After removing the unit, they presented it to Conroy and stared at him, uncertain of what to say.

Conroy smiled at them and scratched the back of his head as he often did when he was embarrassed. "Well," he said, as if he had surprised himself, "How about that?"

The chief mechanic called an emergency meeting with the maintenance personnel; the rest of the fighters were checked by the next morning. Four more faulty ELT's were found. Six others were on the verge of failure.

The story was circulated among the rest of the crew at mealtime, and Hardy was reminded of his Granddaddy's hunting dogs. He jabbed Conroy in the ribs with his elbow. "Well there, Bird Dog, I'm glad that big snoz of yours is good for sumthin!" To Conroy's dismay, the nickname stuck.

Wildstar never argued with Conroy again about pressurizing his cockpit. In fact, Wildstar began to pressurize his own cockpit on long patrols. He learned to put more faith in his senses as well as in the skills of his capable squadron leader.

He didn't argue with Conroy when he exchanged fighters with a less experienced pilot in the squadron. The young pilot's fighter was severely damaged in battle. It couldn't be fully restored with the dwindling resources on the Argo.

Wildstar suggested the fighter and the pilot should be grounded, but Conroy insisted what remained of the squadron was required for an appropriate sweep before the Argo's reentry. Conroy offered to fly the damaged aircraft himself, implying his skill could compensate for any problems that might arise. Wildstar didn't argue.

Wildstar later wondered if he made a mistake with his final decision. Things might have been different.

* * *

The spacecraft made it through the critical phase of the decent with only minor handling flaws. It was his wingman's voice over the radio, bringing his attention to the smoke trailing from his right wing.

"Tango Leader, you're bleed'n smoke at your six." Hardy's voice was the first to break the tense static of the radio.

Conroy strained to look over his shoulder. He could see the smoke trail, but the source was underneath him. Conroy's eyes darted over his instruments. He had normal indications across the board. "Fuel check, Tango One," he said on the open mike.

"Eighty percent," Hardy responded.

"Oxygen check, Tango One," Conroy said.

"Seventy-five percent, Tango Leader."

Conroy verified his own levels against Hardy's. They were within range. He assumed the lines to his critical resources were still intact.

"We should break formation and troubleshoot, Conroy," Hardy said.

Conroy paused before responding, quickly running through his options in his head. Hardy used his name rather than Conroy's call sign in his last transmission to emphasize his concern. He knew Hardy was right. Conroy shook his head in frustration. His decision might cost them two fighters during the descent instead of one. "Tango Two, take the lead and cover the Argo's critical descent." Tango Two responded with a double-tap on his mike and began to ease into the lead position.

Conroy broke formation with the squadron and Hardy followed. Once they were at a safe distance, Hardy made a pass below Conroy's spacecraft and attempted to assess the damage.

"There's a rupture in the heat shield," Hardy said. "I think it's the insulation that's burn'n. There's no visible fire."

Conroy sighed with relief. His experience told him the heat of reentry had weakened and cracked the heat shield on the belly of the fighter. There was still a level of protection between the heat shield and the fuel lines. If the crack was minor, and he hadn't lost a large section, he might still be in shape for an underground landing.

Conroy's fighter was simply a glider during the critical phase of decent. The engine was dormant until it was time to maneuver in Earth's gravity. If the engine was damaged, targeting an underground hanger for a landing was dangerous for both him and the hanger personnel. He knew he would have to manage a controlled crash on the radioactive surface of Earth. It was a worst-case scenario. One he hoped to avoid.

"Give me some space, Hardy," Conroy said, as he recalled his flame-out procedures.

Hardy maneuvered his fighter away from Conroy's. Giving him distance to engage the engine. Standard procedure was to glide as long as they could to conserve fuel. In this case, if a problem arose, altitude would give him time to troubleshoot.

The familiar shriek of the engine shook Conroy's body in the cockpit. It was a welcome sound. His eyes darted quickly across the engine instruments: temperature, pressure, and fuel flow. The gauges suddenly came to life and settled at their familiar indications. There were no anomalies.

Conroy was aware of a soft flash in his peripheral vision. Hardy engaged his own engine to stay level with him. He knew Hardy was watching him carefully, scanning the exterior of his fighter, looking for external signs of stress.

Conroy eased the throttle forward, slowly. The engine power increased and the fighter began to gain altitude. Hardy followed his lead.

Conroy smiled. Tension released from his body. The instruments indicated normal engine performance. However, more than the instruments, he relied upon what he felt. The vibrations of the engine, the sound of the motorized flaps as they moved, the responsiveness of the controls, they all had the familiar feel of a healthy fighter.

Conroy smiled sheepishly at Hardy through the weathered haze of his canopy, feeling a little foolish for his heightened cautiousness. Hardy seemed eased by his demeanor and smiled back. Conroy laughed out loud with relief and Hardy joined in.

The explosion was a surprise. There was no warning. Conroy's fighter disappeared into flames.

* * *

Conroy's fighter was spinning. He heard Hardy's voice screaming his name over the radio. Conroy was too busy to answer. 'It must have looked bad from out there,' Conroy thought. 'It's starting to look bad in here.' His training took over and his hands went through his emergency procedures before his brain could completely grasp the situation.

'Reduce engine output,' he thought and pulled back on the throttle, but he suddenly realized he couldn't hear the engine. He tried maneuvering to stop the spin. 'Rudder, ailerons… ailerons…' he thought. "Ailerons!" He shouted, but the controls were unresponsive. Against the increasing gravity of the spin, he turned his head to check the condition of the right wing. It was gone.

Thoughts of his family flashed through his head. The names of the dead were sent to Earth as soon as they established regular communication. His own family would be expecting him, waiting for him at the Argo's landing site. There would be no warning for them.

'The irony,' he thought, 'if I bought it here, today… the very last day of the mission… what a mess!'

He reached for the ejection handle at the base of his seat. With both hands, he pulled hard. He shut his eyes, pressed his head against the headrest of the seat, and crossed his arms over his chest.

He heard the explosive bolts of the canopy blow and the violent hiss of the jets under the seat. He felt the shelter of the cockpit fall away from him. A furious rush of air buffeted his flight suit. There was a momentary sense of weightlessness, then a nauseating sensation of a spinning decent.

Suddenly, a sharp, explosive sound. Blackness, then silence.

* * *

Wildstar wandered through the clamoring sea of people. He pushed passed embracing families and tearful reunions. His lack of emotion was a drastic contrast to those surrounding him. That's what made him stand out.

Venture yelled out to him from a distance, waving him over. His little brother's hand was in his. Wildstar knew Venture wanted him to meet his younger brother, but Wildstar held up his hand. He didn't smile. The smile on Venture's face faded and he nodded.

Venture distracted his little brother by pointing in another direction, "C'mon, Jordy, I see Sandor over there!"

Wildstar didn't find who he was looking for until she found him. She stood silent and still among the crowd of excited people. Her eyes locked on him as soon as he appeared, almost as if she anticipated his arrival.

There was no emotion about her or the young man standing next to her. Any hope or excitement had settled into a silent anxiousness. The young man was looking above the crowd, carefully scanning faces, but the young woman's eyes maintained a guarded stare.

The noise of the crowd abated between them, receding like water into the sea. Wildstar had never met her, but somehow she seemed to know who he was.

Without breaking her gaze from him, she raised a hand and touched the young man on the arm. The young man looked down at her then followed her eyes to Wildstar. They waited for him to make his way to them.

Wildstar swallowed hard, his mind racing, trying to piece together what he would say to them. He remembered lying down on Conroy's bunk, where he could see the assortment of photographs Conroy posted on the wall and on the bottom of bunk above his. Conroy sat on Wildstar's bunk across the narrow walkway and they shared stories about their siblings.

Conroy was the only one that could draw out a story about Alex without any effort. Conroy would recall something about his own brother and suddenly Wildstar's pleasant memories of Alex would return. Before Wildstar knew it, he was sharing a story with Conroy. It was easier to forget the grief of his brother's loss when they spoke of good times before the bombings.

Confronted with Conroy's family now, he felt as if he knew them. Strangely, it didn't seem to make things any easier.

Cory was the image of his brother in his cadet's uniform. There was no denying the relation. The same strong jaw-line, the same lean build. He was tall, like his brother. Even the way he stood was familiar. His shoulders back, his head held high with a striking confidence undiminished by his youth.

Jessica had the soft, delicate look of her mother. Her blond hair was swept back from her face into a long braid. She was tall and thin, a contrast to the masculine build of her brothers, but the confidence of her demeanor was no less obvious. When Wildstar reached them, he noticed the eyes that studied him so carefully were a striking blue.

"Jessica? Cory?" Wildstar began carefully, meeting their eyes as he spoke their names.

"Is he alive?" Jessica asked, before he could say anything else. Wildstar sensed she suppressed the trembling in her voice.

Wildstar hesitated. Although he knew very little, he was ready for a carefully crafted explanation. In his surprise he could only utter, "I don't know."

"Where is the medevac?" She asked softly, with an oddly surreal calmness.

Wildstar pointed the way, quite shocked at her grasp on the situation. He was much more prepared for an emotional wreck.

"I'm going with you," Cory said to Wildstar, but Jessica halted him with a gentle touch.

"No, I need you to get the medical staff together. We need a trauma specialist… We might need a surgeon." She grasped his arm and leaned into him. "Tell Doctor Randal to stand by before he starts celebrating. Tell him who it is." She paused a moment, biting her lip as she thought.

Wildstar was relieved. Her voice was low and steady. She had no intention of startling the people around them.

"Cory?" She said, "If he's injured, he's going to need whole blood. A lot of it."

Cory nodded at his sister and threw Wildstar a quick salute as he started to back away. "Sir!"

Wildstar quickly saluted back; he then watched Jessica pick up the tattered, leather backpack at her feet. She threw it over one shoulder and looked at Wildstar expectantly. "Let's go," she said and brushed passed him.

He hesitated again, still shocked at such a measured reaction. Part of him tried to understand what had just happened. The other part decided to follow her without question. He spun around and moved quickly to catch up with her.

* * *

To Be Continued

Chapter 2 – Aftermath

The Argo lands safely on Earth with its precious cargo from Iscandar. However, the mission isn't over. At least, not until the entire crew makes it home.


	2. Chapter 2 Aftermath

Title: Legacy, Chapter 2 – Aftermath

Author: C. Lear

Pairing(s)/Characters: None

Rating: PG or K

Story Summary: The Star Force returns from Iscandar with its precious cargo, but it's just the beginning. The time to recover and rebuild is at hand. The children of Earth must emerge from their underground cities and take their place in the sun. However, before they can move forward, they must break the ties to their shattered and broken pasts.

Chapter Summary: The Argo lands safely on Earth with its precious cargo from Iscandar. However, the mission isn't over. At least, not until the entire crew makes it home.

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: Begins where Season 1 of Starblazers ends.

Disclaimer: Star Blazers is owned by Voyager Entertainment

Beta Reader: Sybil Rowan! My awesome beta reader!

Date Written: July 2009

Word Count: 1,732

He was suddenly aware of a raw, metallic taste in his mouth. It was so strong he tasted it before the blood. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry and swollen, like it was coated in dust.

Peter Conroy tried to open his eyes, but only one would open. His vision was blurred. He could see a jagged crack down the faceplate of his helmet. It was outlined in streaks of blood.

Where was the blood coming from? The other eye, he thought.

Over the static and the distant voices of the com-link he could hear his own breathing. It was a struggle. His breaths were short and shallow. Peter tried to lift his head, but a sharp pain shot down his spine. He moved more carefully the second time.

The parachute from his ejection seat billowed gently in the thermals, its chameleon-like skin continuously changing and blending with the color of the earth around it. He stared and marveled in its beauty for a moment as his eye adjusted.

He was aware he was sitting upright, but slightly tilted to his left. He was slumped, as much as his chair restraints would allow. The restraints were tight and they felt painfully constricted against his chest. He lifted a hand to his chest and fumbled for the buckles. A clumsy hand hit the release and the belts loosened. He pushed them away and allowed his body to fall with the angle of the ejection seat.

He screamed and caught himself with an extended arm before he slid to the ground. The sudden movement shot pain throughout his body. It was excruciating, but the pain meant his extremities were still with him.

Leaning on his left arm, he took a moment to recover, trying to gather his strength. He stared at the orange, powdery surface of the Earth around him. Such an ugly color, he thought, but he had never been so happy to see it in his young life.

He grasped a fistful of it in his hand. He lifted it to his face and opened his fingers. The dry, dusty substance scattered in the wind. He spread his fingers and the sand slid between them. It was dry, lifeless, completely unwelcoming, but it was still home.

He let the rest slowly drain from his palm. 'It's alright now,' he thought. 'We're going to fix it. You'll see. Just don't be too hard on me right now.'

He could hear frantic voices and static in his ears. He could hear someone calling his name, but the ringing in his ears was much louder. The voices seemed distant and surreal, so it didn't occur to him to answer. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew they were coming for him, so he wanted to be on his feet when they arrived.

Adrenaline was taking over, numbing the pain. Peter straightened himself and got to his knees, then brought a leg forward. Each movement was slow and grueling. He pressed his hand against his knee and pushed himself up, gritting his teeth as the movement washed him in pain. His eyes blurred and a spinning sensation overtook him. He caught himself before he tipped over. He straightened his body and with an ingrained professionalism, he brushed the dust from the arms of his uniform.

He touched his holstered firearm at his right side, confirming it was still with him. He paused and shook his head, attempting to clear his fading vision, but the sudden movement upset his fragile equilibrium. He caught himself once more.

'That was a mistake,' he thought. 'Don't fall. You might not make it back up.'

His first step forward was hesitant and unsteady. They were expecting him, waiting for him, he thought. This gave him a sense of urgency and it drove him forward.

Strangely, he had no particular destination in mind, no direction. Something told him to get up and move. Something he remembered about head injuries.

'The brain flops to one side of the skull and starts to turn purple,' he thought. 'Was that a joke or was it for real?' He couldn't remember. He knew he was exhausted. His body wanted to shut down, to slip peacefully into unconsciousness. He knew he couldn't let it happen. Sleeping was bad. 'Don't fall asleep,' he thought and he laughed softly, 'you might wake up dead.'

There was more confidence, more determination in his next step. The next step was automatic. Soon, it was one steady step after another.

He had to stay conscious. He had to move, one unsteady step at a time. He had to keep breathing, one hard-fought breath after another.

The sun was in the distance, slowly descending toward a flat and lifeless horizon. A long stretch of desolation lay before him. 'West,' he thought, 'I'll go west.'

* * *

"Doc?" The shuttle pilot stood on the ramp of the shuttle. He looked at Jessica in surprise as she approached. "They paged you? I thought you were…"

She didn't meet his eyes and she offered no explanation as she jogged up the ramp, "Afternoon, Jason!"

The confused pilot watched after her as she entered the shuttle, then Wildstar, several steps behind saw the recognition on Jason's face as the pieces began to fall into place.

"Oh…" Jason said, but before he could raise the obvious objection to a civilian on a military transport, he found himself face-to-face with Wildstar.

"Do you have led feet, Soldier?" Wildstar yelled.

"Sir! No, Sir!" Jason jumped and snapped to attention.

"Are you waiting for an invitation or are you going to do your job?"

"Yes, Sir! Do my job, Sir!" He hesitated as he watched Wildstar grab two helmets from the general supply closet. "I'm sorry, Sir… You are…?"

Wildstar tossed a helmet to Jessica then looked back at him. "Your worst nightmare if you don't get this boat in the air!"

The pilot stared at him, wide-eyed. He lifted a hand to the ramp control without breaking his gaze and pressed the button. The ramp began to close.

"Hey!" A medic made a running leap for the closing ramp, a bag pressed firmly to his chest. He stumbled into the shuttle, nudged forward by the increasing angle of the ramp. "What's the deal?"

The pilot transferred his wide-eyed stare to the new passenger and whispered, "Run, Joe! Baaaaad ju ju! Run for your life!"

"We need saline!" Jessica said as she inspected one of the supply trunks.

"Here, Doc," the medic tossed her the bag, "there are some syringe guns and endotracheal tubes in there too."

She caught the bag and dropped it at her feet; she knelt to unload the plastic bags of clear liquid.

"Epinephrine?" She asked.

"Top compartment on your left," Joe replied. "We have an audience?" He glanced back at Jason with a perplexed look.

"You have a crew!" Wildstar snapped as he sat down and donned his helmet, he was in no mood for explanations and he suspected Jessica felt the same.

"Yes, Sir." The medic threw Wildstar a quick salute.

"Told you!" Jason mouthed and the ramp whined and hissed as the shuttle sealed and began to pressurize.

"What's the word, Jason?" Jessica asked, still stocking the supply trunk.

The pilot moved briskly to the front of the shuttle, touching her shoulder as he passed. "A fighter broke up on reentry. We have the coordinates and visual confirmation of the crash site. The ejection seat beacon is intermittent."

"There was an ejection?" Jessica paused.

Wildstar watched her as she briefly closed her eyes, and released a trembling breath. 'At least there was separation from the fighter before it crashed,' he thought. Wildstar knew an intermittent beacon meant a damaged ejection seat, possibly a damaged pilot. Certainly, she knew it too.

"Yes, ma'am," he said as he climbed into the shuttle's left seat. "His wingman is still circling. He thinks he has the location."

"Has there been any communication from the pilot?" Joe asked as he sat down in the right seat of the shuttle's cockpit.

Wildstar saw the pilot glance at Jessica. She was distracted with pulling on her helmet. He answered his copilot with a brief shake of his head then went back to his work, setting his instruments for launch.

Jessica dropped into a chair across from Wildstar. She donned her shoulder harness and seat belt as she slid the empty bag under her seat with the heel of her boot.

Jason glanced back to make sure his passengers were seated and strapped in. The familiar spooling sound of the auxiliary power unit filled the shuttles interior. Jason radioed their intent to Control and he was given immediate clearance. Then the vessel vibrated then shuddered with the roar of the engines.

They ascended quickly from the underground launch site. When they were free from the launch tube, the rays of the sun flooded through the windows, bathing Jessica in its golden light. She closed her eyes, briefly squinting against it. Wildstar took the opportunity to study her.

Strands of her hair had fallen loose from her braid and were caught in the soft stream of her breath. They floated near her face, illuminated in the sunlight. Wildstar recalled her likeness from Conroy's photographs. The young woman before him now was thinner and more weathered than what he remembered. Her delicate frailty was lovely nonetheless, but she looked very tired. Fear and heavy responsibility placed on the shoulders of one so young had taken their toll.

It occurred to Wildstar at that moment, although it had always been in the back of his mind, life had been difficult in their absence. The people they left behind were not just waiting for their return, they were trying desperately to survive! He was suddenly overwhelmed by the frightening reality. 'This is just the beginning,' he thought. 'Returning to Earth was just the beginning for all of them.'

The radio crackled to life in their helmets and Jessica suddenly opened her eyes. She caught Wildstar's eyes on her before he could avert them. He felt the heat rise in his face as he blushed. He was grateful when Jason's voice broke through the hiss of the static and diverted Jessica's attention.

"Message from Doctor Randal," Jason said, "his trauma team is ready. Contact them when you have an update. You owe him a drink."

* * *

To Be Continued

Chapter 3 – Requiem

They call her Doc. Can Jessica live up to her nickname when it comes to her own brother? Surviving a crash landing on the radioactive surface of Earth is one thing, surviving the injuries is another. Jessica races against the golden hour, desperately trying to find her brother before its too late.


	3. Chapter 3 Requiem

Title: Legacy, Chapter 3 – Requiem

Author: C. Lear

Rating: PG13 or T, some content may not be suitable for children

Story Summary: Season 1 of Starblazers draws to a close when the Star Force returns from Iscandar with their precious cargo. It's just the beginning. The time to recover and rebuild is at hand. Earth's children must emerge from their underground cities and take their place in the sun. However, before they can move forward, they must break the ties to their shattered and broken pasts.

Chapter Summary: They call her Doc. Can Jessica live up to her nickname when it comes to her own brother? Surviving a crash landing on the radioactive surface of Earth is one thing, surviving the injuries is another. Jessica races against the golden hour, desperately trying to find her brother before its too late.

Author's Notes: Enjoy!

Warnings: None.

Pairing(s)/Characters: None

Disclaimer: Star Blazers is owned by Voyager Entertainment

Beta Reader: Sybil Rowan

Date Written: August, 2009

Word Count: 5560

The dust from the shuttle's jet wash swirled thick in the air, obscuring critical visibility from the windows. Jessica hit the release on her belts and pulled them away. She was on her feet before the shuttle settled to the earth. She made long strides to the back of the shuttle, steadying herself by grasping the handlebars along ceiling. She reached the rear hatch and smacked the control button with the palm of her hand, repeating the action in rapid succession, as if it would make the hatch descend faster.

She couldn't move fast enough. Wildstar's voice was faint behind her. The words he spoke didn't register with her. She ran up the ramp and jumped over the edge before it could descend completely.

She was the first to reach the wreckage of the ejection seat. The parachute billowed eerily in the dusty clouds stirred by the shuttle. Jessica knelt briefly before the ejection seat. She quickly took in important details of the scene: the undamaged belt release, the faint impressions of boots and hands in the sand, the small pool of dried, blackened blood in the dust.

She heard Wildstar's voice behind her as she stood and surveyed their surroundings. "We should split up and go in different directions."

Jessica didn't answer. Her eyes fixed on a row of faint impressions in the dust. They were quickly disappearing with the constant movement of the sand in the wind, but to Jessica, they held promise. She began to walk, following tentative signs of life, silently oblivious to the other members of her team.

* * *

It was some distance from the site of the ejection seat before she found him. He was an impressive, but ragged, silhouette in the rays of the descending sun. He stood with a supportive hand against a rocky outcrop. His back was to her. He faced the sun. The wind and the dust swept over him, illuminating the rays of the sun until, from a distance, he appeared almost apparitional.

Jessica caught her breath. She wanted to call out to him. She wanted to run to him and throw her arms around him, but she didn't. There was an obvious unsteadiness about him, but his confidant presence was a stark contrast to his battered condition. 'He's on his feet,' Jessica thought. 'He's standing!' She caught herself smiling.

She approached him with a quiet reserve, stepping carefully up the rise. The warmth of the sun embraced her. She steadied herself, as if there was something she could do about her trembling. With a gentle hand she placed her hand on his back and stood next to him.

"Jessica," he said to her and she was suddenly aware she had not heard him speak her name in almost a year. "I knew you'd find me." His voice was weak and raspy, and he was struggling to catch his breath. "Just… just like when we were kids."

"I knew all of your hiding places back then," she said softly, managing a brief smile for him. A tangle of joy and anxiousness rose within her, but she forced it down, fighting it back before it overwhelmed her. 'Calmly,' she thought. 'Stay sharp. You have work to do.'

"I'm sorry I'm late…" Peter shifted uncomfortably with pain, "There was a little accident."

"You're not late, Peter. You're just in time." Jessica swallowed hard, then with a hesitant hand she reached for his face. She took her brother's chin in her hand and gently urged him to look at her. He self-consciously turned his head away from her, attempting to hide his wounds. Jessica knew this was not how he wanted his little sister to see him.

Jessica persisted, touching his chin again and turning his burns toward her. She studied them with a composed objectivity, trying to seem undisturbed by the extent of the damage. Beneath the shattered remains of his faceplate, his face was burned and swollen. Spatters of dried blood obscured the left half of his face. She could see charred and blackened skin. His left eye was bloody and swollen shut.

Peter leaned into the rocky outcrop beside him for support. With careful, steady hands, she lifted the faceplate. She put her other hand against her brother's right cheek. Even in the heat of the sun, Peter's skin was cold and strikingly pale. There was a slight blue tint to his lips. She knew he was lacking oxygenated blood.

'It could have been much worse,' she thought. 'The collision could have broken his neck.' She silently gave thanks for the condition he was in and for the hard head, which came standard with every Conroy male.

Jessica moved her hands from his face to his neck. She searched for his pulse. It was rapid, weak, and thready. She gently moved her hands about his shoulders and arms, feeling for bruising and fractures. Leaning in close to him, she moved her arms under his so her hands could feel his back. She suddenly felt his arm around her. He gently pulled her into a strong embrace.

She was quiet and still, allowing herself to be held in the silence. Joy rose within her, but so did fear. He was cold. She could feel his rapid, shallow breaths, his trembling, his body's struggle to overcome its rapidly failing systems. She caught her breath and fought back her tears, pulling away from him before she was overwhelmed.

Jessica looked down at her hand. There was fresh blood on her glove. Her eyes widened when she found the source; a serrated piece of shrapnel lodged firmly in the left side of her brother's abdominal cavity.

Peter followed Jessica's eyes to his abdomen. "Oh," he said quite calmly, "That doesn't belong there." He brought up his right hand and wrapped his fingers firmly around the jagged protruding piece of steel. She knew he had every intention of giving it a good yank.

"No, no, no!" Jessica exclaimed, grabbing Peter's wrist. "We should let the surgeon take care of that." Jessica said softly, desperately trying to control the anxiousness in her voice.

"But it needs to go back into the fighter." Peter's words faded into his shallow breaths. "He's not gonna' know where it goes."

Jessica grabbed Peter's arm. She didn't speak until his eyes met hers. "Don't touch it, Peter! Do you understand? Don't try to pull it out!" The tone of her voice was enough to emphasize the seriousness of the situation. Peter nodded gravely.

It was the first rule of triage; pieces of shrapnel protruding from the human body must remain where they imbedded themselves. Pulling them out often caused more damage than the brutal act of going in. The last thing Peter needed was additional internal bleeding. Jessica knew his head wound was impairing his ability to make sound decisions.

Jessica inspected his chest above the entry wound. The seal of the flight suit was shredded. There were small rips in the material on his chest and left arm. There was fresh blood on his skin, evidence of shrapnel entry.

"You're trying to catch your breath, Peter! Are you having chest pains? Does it hurt when you breathe?" Peter responded with a nod.

Jessica knelt in front of him, carefully assessing his legs for broken bones. "Can you tell me about the accident, Peter? Do you remember what happened? Did you black out?" Jessica paused, realizing he could not keep up with her rapid-fire questioning. She looked up at him. He was watching the sun ease gently upon the horizon. "Peter?" Jessica said softly as she stood again.

"It's been more than a year since I've seen the sun set," Peter said softly. "I miss the sun."

Jessica touched his arm gently. Her voice was soft. Her words trembled. "Me too," she paused for a moment. "That's why you left the ejection seat?"

He nodded, "I think so. It was warmer."

Jessica's fingers tightened around his arm. "I need to know if you blacked out, Peter. Please tell me."

He shifted again, "I remember the ejection, but that's all. I…"

Jessica felt him sway. She stepped in close to him, attempting to steady him, but his knees suddenly buckled beneath him. He grabbed the outcrop for support, but the stones broke loose in his hand. Jessica threw her arms around him, but the weight of him prevailed and they hit the ground on their knees.

"Medevac team, this is Jessica Conroy. I found the pilot!" Jessica's voice sounded small and frail in the static of the radio. "I need a stretcher up here!"

"Where are you?" Wildstar replied.

"No stretcher," Peter said, "I'm walking to the shuttle."

Jessica opened her mouth to speak, but Peter interrupted her, "I'm walking."

Wildstar's voice came again, followed by Jason's. They were both calling her name. Jessica imagined them frantically darting about, searching the horizon for them.

"Peter, I think you're hemorrhaging internally! You're very shocky right now!" Jessica paused, hoping to provoke a response from him. "The mission is over! You've done your job! Let me do mine!"

"My legs aren't broken. I don't want to be carried," he said calmly. There was a sudden clarity and determination in his eye and it said, 'the decision is final'. "I want to walk back to the shuttle. Please help me."

Jessica shook her head, looking down at the ground. She was torn and frustrated. Most of all, she hated it when he asked nicely. He knew it was much harder for her to tell him no.

"Jessica, we're coming to you! Where are you?" Wildstar's voice was stronger than before.

"Negative," Jessica finally replied on the open mike, then she and her brother looked at each other, "we're coming to you."

Peter tried to smile at her, but she didn't smile back. Jessica knew she was wasting her time trying to argue with her brother. Once Peter was set on something, it was impossible to change his mind. Her most immediate concern was to get him away from the hostile environment of Earth's surface.

"Thank you."

"Don't be nice to me. I'm angry at you right now." She positioned herself under his right arm. She felt his soft, familiar laugh. She was suddenly struck by how much she missed it.

"Aren't you always angry at me for something?"

"I'm your sister!" She carefully positioned her left arm around his body for support. "It's my right to always be angry with you. Are you ready?" He nodded.

They both stood carefully. She heard him strain with the movement. She knew he was gritting his teeth against the pain. It was almost more than she could take.

"Are you all right?" Jessica asked and Peter nodded quickly.

"Let's go!" He replied sharply and she knew he wanted to move before he changed his mind.

"Joe!" Jessica called the medic on the open mike. She tried to sound calm and steady when she spoke, but her voice trembled. She struggled with the weight of her brother against her shoulders. "We have definite head trauma here. Peripheral cyanosis, with chest pains and labored breathing! Prep the saline and the body scanner, please."

* * *

It took some time for the two of them to reach the proximity of the shuttle. They tried to move carefully through the uneven terrain. Wildstar spotted them first as they topped a nearby rise. He rushed to them. He took Conroy's other arm and pulled it over his shoulders.

"Watch that shrapnel in his side!" Jessica shouted.

"I see it! What happened? Why didn't you let us bring a stretcher?"

"Peter wanted to walk." Jessica breathed hard from her exertion.

"Walk?" Wildstar glanced at both of them, hoping for an additional explanation.

"It's… it's a nice day for a walk," Peter said softly between hard fought breaths.

Wildstar smiled and shook his head. It was just like Conroy to stay on his feet as long as he could, even if it meant fending off the medics. "You certainly have a flare for the dramatic, don't you?"

"Hey," Conroy rasped, "any landing you can walk away from…"

Wildstar laughed. "No, I think this is going to be a bad landing any way you look at it!"

By the time they reached the ramp of the shuttle the equipment was prepped. Peter continued to be difficult. He insisted on sitting up in a chair, rather than reclining in the gurney, arguing it would be harder to catch his breath in a prone position.

Wildstar knew Jessica was losing her patience with her brother. She finally raised her voice to him. "You're going to lay down, shut up, and let me do my job! If you don't, I will knock you out and intubate! Got it?"

For a brief moment, Wildstar wanted to smile. The scene reminded him of a feisty young mother arguing with her teenage son. He didn't know what intubate meant, but it didn't sound pleasant.

Peter must have been thinking the same thing. He couldn't help a sarcastic reply, "Yes, Mother!"

Wildstar didn't realize he was smiling out loud until Jessica glared at him and snapped. "What are you grinning at?"

Wildstar forced the smile from his face. He shook his head, innocently dismissing the question as they carefully eased Peter onto the gurney. Wildstar watched Jessica remove Peter's helmet and inspect the wounds to his face and head. She placed an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose.

The familiar whine and hiss of pressurization echoed in the background. The thick clouds of dust slowly retreated into the filtration system.

Jessica handed Wildstar a pair of surgical scissors. "Cut away his flight suit! Be careful around the open wound!" She stood and lowered the vital statistics scanner from the wall and started flipping switches.

The medic hung the saline bag and started to prepare the intravenous needle. "Clear an arm for me." He said to Wildstar.

Wildstar pulled off Peter's flight gloves and started cutting open the sleeve of his flight suit. Then he pulled at Peter's shirt and began cutting from the bottom. He met Peter's one good eye and gave him a reassuring smile.

"You know, Wildstar." Peter said, as he pulled the oxygen mask from his face, "I don't want to alarm you, but I'm getting a little aroused here."

Wildstar's reassuring smile pursed into a painful smirk. He tried hard not to laugh out loud. The absurdity of the situation was apparent to both of them. He took the scissors and pointed them at Peter's face. "You are a sick man! I am going to assume that's the bump on your head talking." Wildstar tried to maintain a serious demeanor and went back to cutting away Peter's flight suit.

The medic just shook his head. "Be still!" He said to Peter. "I am trying to find a vein!"

Peter laughed, his crooked smile still bearing his familiar mischievous flare. "Derek," he said between quick, shallow breaths, "I never noticed what lovely eyes you have!"

They both started to laugh out loud. "Shhhhhh! Quit it!" Wildstar said, "You're going to get me in trouble!" Jessica suddenly smacked him on the back of the helmet from her standing position. The helmet slipped forward on Wildstar's face. "See?" Wildstar said to Peter, the crooked angle of the helmet covering one eye.

Peter's body shook with weakened laughter. "She's got ears like a bat!"

"Start on his legs!" Jessica said to Wildstar. Jessica ripped Peter's shirt the rest of the way, exposing his neck and chest. She took the oxygen mask from Peter's hand and positioned the mask back over his mouth. "Shut up and breathe!"

"Let me know if this hurts, Peter!" Jessica put her hands over Peter's abdomen and applied pressure. Peter jerked slightly when she came too close to the shrapnel wound. "Okay, Peter, that's good!"

"Blood pressure is steady! Heart rate is at one-twenty and rising!" Joe listened intently to Peter's chest through his stethoscope and shook his head. "I can't hear breath sounds on the left. The left side isn't rising with the right! I think it's a tension pneumothorax!"

Jessica looked up at Joe from Peter's chest and gave him a quick nod. "Must be! He has a distended jugular and I count two entry wounds here!"

"We need to relieve the pressure!" Joe said.

"Jessica?" Wildstar drew her attention to Peter's left leg. He cut away the flight suit and revealed a surprising amount of blood.

"Okay! Do you see any puncture wounds? Look carefully." Wildstar shook his head. "That blood is drying, I think most of it is from the shrapnel wound. That bleeding has stopped for now. There's alcohol and gauze over there. Clean the blood from the area and try to watch for swelling or discoloration. Got it?" Wildstar nodded his response and reached for the supplies. "Peter, I need to look at your back for exit wounds!" She positioned her hands underneath him. "I need to roll you on your right side for just a second!"

It was a coordinated effort between the three of them: Joe at Peter's head, Jessica at his chest, and Wildstar at his legs. "Alright, roll on three." Jessica started the count and they lifted Peter on three.

Peter's muscles tightened and his body stiffened with the pain. He gritted his teeth under the oxygen mask.

The shredded flight suit fell away from his back, revealing undamaged skin. Jessica sighed with some relief. The shrapnel had not passed completely through his chest. Although it was still trapped inside him, at least Jessica could focus on the holes on the front of his chest.

"Alright," she said and they carefully laid him flat again. Jessica rummaged in the supply chest and her hands emerged with what appeared to be flexible plastic disks sealed neatly in plastic packaging. "Do you have triage experience?" She glanced at Wildstar.

Wildstar nodded. "Yes."

"Any experience with sucking chest wounds?" She asked as she pressed one of the large plastic disks over one of the shrapnel wounds in Peter's chest. It clung readily to the cleaned skin.

"No," he replied.

"That's alright! I just need a little help from you." She took the second plastic disk and placed it over the other hole in her brother's chest. "Peter, there's a pocket of air building up in your chest. It's crushing your lung. That's why you can't breathe!" She took Wildstar's hands and placed them firmly on the plastic disks. "I need you to watch these chest seals." She said to Wildstar. "Not too much pressure, but make sure they stay sealed, okay?"

Wildstar nodded nervously, then he caught Peter's good eye on him and tried to smile reassuringly. "I got your back."

"Thought you had my front," Peter's voice was just a whisper as he tried to smile back at him.

The medic handed her an object wrapped in plastic packaging and she began to rip it open. "Peter, you know I love you."

Peter looked at her suspiciously. "This is going to hurt, isn't it?"

"After that piece of shrapnel you took in the gut? It's just a tickle, Sweetheart." She finished unwrapping the 14-gauge needle out of Peter's eyesite, but Wildstar's eyes widened slightly when he saw the size of it. "I don't have time to anesthetize the area, Peter. You're going to feel a good-sized pinch, okay? I need you to try and be very still."

Peter suddenly released a groan. "I haven't started yet, Honey," Jessica said to him.

"No, pressure… Hurts…" He moved his hand toward Wildstar's hands on his chest.

"Hey, easy does it!" Jessica touched Wildstar's arm. Wildstar suddenly broke his stare from the needle and looked at Jessica.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" He said to her. "I'm sorry!" He repeated to Peter. He suddenly realized he was preoccupied with the syringe in Jessica's hand. He was pressing too hard against Peter's chest to secure the chest seals.

"It's okay! It's okay!" Jessica said quickly in a reassuring tone. She briefly touched his arm. "You're doing fine."

The medic moved to Peter's right side and put his weight on Peter's right hand. Wildstar maintained his vigilance over the wounds, but moved slightly so the medic could get a good hold.

"Not so tight," Jessica told the medic, "he's my brother and he's never hit me before. He's not going to start now."

"Are you sure?" Joe glanced at the syringe then looked at her.

"It's alright." She persisted with a nod.

Joe gently eased his grip, but kept a vigilant hold on Peter's limbs. "Do you want me to do this?" He asked Jessica, but Peter replied to him.

"No," Peter shook his head, "she can do it. I trust her."

Jessica smiled at Peter. "Check out the scenery in the window for me, Peter. What's his blood pressure?"

Joe checked the readings on the scanner. "Hypotensive, eighty over forty! His pulse is one-fifty and rising!"

Peter complied with his sister's request and turned his head away from her. Wildstar watched as Jessica closed her eyes and carefully probed the left side of her brother's chest. Her fingers painstakingly followed the protrusion of his clavicle then stepped down the faint lines of his rib cage.

Without opening her eyes, she carefully brought the needle to his chest and positioned it over the space between the first and second rib. Then with a surprising tenderness that Wildstar would have never associated with such an act, she pressed the needle into her brother's chest.

They could all feel Peter's muscles tighten. He squeezed his good eye closed and tears flowed. His clenched fists trembled under the strain, but he remained obediently still.

She quickly pulled the plunger from the syringe and bloody fluid bubbled into it. She carefully eased the syringe from his chest and a catheter remained. Wildstar could hear the soft hiss of air and fluid bubble through the catheter.

Peter's muscles suddenly released. They felt his body as it went limp in their hands. Silently, he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

"What happened?" Wildstar shouted. "He... he was talking to me!"

"Peter?" Joe touched Peter's face, trying to revive him. "Peter, can you here me?" He pulled back Peter's eyelid to check his pupils. The soft, rhythmic beep of the EKG registered sporadically. "Doc?"

Jessica followed Joe's eyes to the EKG. "I see it! Multiple PVC's!"

"He's non-responsive, Doc!" Joe leaned close to Peter's face. "He's not breathing!"

"He's not breathing?" Wildstar shouted. "What does that mean?"

Jessica looked at Wildstar, obviously perplexed by the question. "It means he's not breathing!" She said calmly. "Bag him!" Jessica said to Joe, but Joe already grabbed the ventilator bag from the supply chest. He removed the oxygen mask from Peter's face and positioned the mask of the ventilator bag in its place.

"What can I do?" Wildstar asked, clearly frustrated.

Jessica pointed to the chair behind him. "Sit!" Wildstar obediently flopped back into the chair. She pointed at him. "Stay!"

Jessica reached for a syringe gun and loaded it with a fluid-filled capsule. She pressed the gun firmly to Peter's neck, over the bloated jugular, and pulled the trigger. There was a brief hiss as the epinephrine was administered, then she tossed the gun aside.

"V-fib!" Joe shouted, responding to the reading on the EKG.

Jessica turned to the wall behind her and snatched the resuscitation electrodes for the defibrillator. She placed an electrode on the upper right side of his chest. She carefully positioned the second on his left, above the shrapnel wound, but below Peter's heart.

"Ready?" She looked at Joe and he nodded. He pulled the ventilator bag away.

The female voice of the computerized defibrillator anounced its intention and a three point count-down. After one, Peter's body jerked and arched as his muscles contracted with the electrical impulse. His body released. There was an intermitant beep from the scanner. Another sharp blip sounded through the hollow drone of the alarms.

Joe brought up the ventilator bag to Peter's face. Jessica began chest compressions until the defibrillator recycled.

Another anounced intention from the defibrillator broke the coordinated rythm between Jessica and Joe. A three point count-down followed. Jessica and the medic pulled away from Peter's body. Peter jerked again, every muscle locked and strained with the violent assalt on his system.

A tense moment passed, then the scanner alarms ceased, one by one. They waited for changes in Peter's vitals.

Peter moved. He suddenly gasped, drawing in a deep breath as if he broke the angry surface of the sea. He brought up his hand and roughly slapped the ventilator bag from his face and out of Joe's hands.

Jessica grabbed his left arm and put a hand under his back. She began to push him up on his side. "Turn him! Quick!"

Wildstar moved quickly and steadied Peter's body on the opposite side from Jessica. "Move back!" Jessica said to Wildstar.

"What?"

"Back!" Jessica shouted and she pushed Wildstar back in time to avoid Peter's undigested breakfast as it hit the floor.

"Normal sinus rhythm," Joe's eyes were still on the EKG monitor.

"Normal breath sounds too!" Jessica smiled at Joe after watching her brother breathe.

Peter was still on his side. Joe pressed the stethescope against Peter's back and he nodded and returned Jessica's smile. "I'll administer a little Promethazine through the IV. It'll help with the nausea."

Jessica sat on the gurny and pressed her body against Peter's back, supporting him so he could remain on his side. She threaded her arm under his so she could reach the catheter in his chest. She gently closed the valve. With maticulous detail, she checked the seals over his wounds. She took Peter's hand in hers. "Are you going to listen to me the next time I tell you we need a stretcher?" Jessica whispered to Peter.

"No." Peter whispered and Jessica laughed softly. "I'm going to feel this in the morning, aren't I?"

Peter shivered violently. Jessica looked up at Wildstar. "There are blankets in the incubator over there. Would you get two of them, please." Wildstar nodded and quickly returned, handing one of the heated blankets to Jessica and spreading the other over Peter's legs. "Thank you," she said and drapped it over Peter's shoulder while carefully avoiding the shrapnal wound in his side.

* * *

Wildstar sat in a chair close to Peter's head. He gently placed his hand over Peter's short cropped hair. "You're a mess!"

Peter was weary and weak, but he looked up at Wildstar and gave him a brief smile. "Sorry… about your boots."

Wildstar smiled and glanced down at his boots. "Don't worry. They're in much better shape than your fighter."

The interior of the shuttle went dark as the medevac escaped the light of the setting sun and entered the underground landing zone. Wildstar leaned back into his chair, releasing a long, relieved sigh. His eyes adjusted to the dim interior illumination of the shuttle, and his eyes fell on Jessica.

The light from the launch tube scattered through the interior of the shuttle as they moved further underground. Even in the intermittent flashes of light, Wildstar could see how much she loved him. It was etched in her eyes, written in the way she looked at him in that very moment. Without hesitation, without doubt, without question, she loved him.

She softly whispered words to him. It was something that Wildstar could not hear at first. Then, he realized, she was softly singing.

Her voice was timid and small. The words trembled as they escaped her. It made the melody tremendously haunting in the hollow confines of the shuttle. He could only catch bits of the words, but the melody was eerily familiar and strangely comforting.

"…_All the birds in the forest they bitterly weep…"  
_

Peter was breathing easier now. Joe gently placed the oxygen mask over Peter's face.

"…_Saying, 'Where will we shelter or where will we sleep?'  
For the Oak and the Ash, they are all cutten down…"_

"Mom sang that, didn't she?" Peter whispered to her. His voice was muffled. "You sound like her."

Jessica was silent as the melody caught in her throat. Wildstar felt his throat tighten. She bowed her head and a tear rolled down her cheek. The emotionless façade which Jessica had so carefully crafted around her shattered in that moment. Wildstar watched the pieces fall.

There was something intrinsically valuable in what was between them, something irreplaceable and wholly immeasurable. Seeing it was enough to help Wildstar understand there was no better place for his good friend than in the capable and vigilant hands of this young woman.

"Tell me," Peter said softly. He drew in a deep breath. "How long have you wanted to stab your big brother in the chest?"

She smiled at him, "Truthfully?" Her voice cracked as she blinked back tears. "Ever since you put my marshmallow peeps in the microwave."

Peter smiled weakly, "You remember that?"

She leaned towards his ear and whispered, "I still have nightmares."

He squeezed her hand. "You'll make sure they put everything back where they found it."

"Of course. I did mention that you might be much happier as a woman."

Peter smiled. He started to laugh, but a sharp pain shot through him. He cringed instead.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Peter! I won't make you laugh anymore!"

Peter blinked, trying to clear his head. Wildstar could see he was swimming through waves of exhaustion. Jessica carefully stood up from the gurney and helped Peter lay back. Somewhere in the random memories surfacing in his mind, Peter recalled a familiar saying between them, "I missed your smile," he said to her.

Jessica laughed out loud. Her eyes glistened as tears escaped, but she responded to him quickly with great sincerity, "I missed your laugh." She leaned over Peter, her face close to his. Strands of her hair escaped the braid and brushed against his face. She kissed his forehead. "I'll be here when you wake up, Peter." When she drew back from him, his eyes were closed.

The shuttle landed. She heard the ramp of the shuttle descending behind her. Joe touched her shoulder. "Doc?"

"Wait." She refused to divert her attention from her brother. Peter tried to say something else, but it was lost in the muffled hiss of the oxygen. His hand relaxed within hers.

Wildstar knew she wanted to be the last person he saw, the last person he heard, and the last person he felt before he faded into unconsciousness. She waited for his eyes to close and she didn't move until she was certain he would not utter another word.

She heard the footfall of the ground support staff as they ran up the ramp of the shuttle. Joe briefed them on Peter's condition. By now, Jason had downloaded her brother's vitals from the on-board scanner.

"Alright," she said to Joe. She unhooked the saline bag and placed it gently on the gurney, then she stepped back.

They unlocked the gurney from its fittings, extended the wheel bearings, and carefully moved it toward the ramp. Jessica's hand lingered with Peter's for a moment longer, until he was moved away. Her fingers brushed his arm, his shoulder, then and the short-cropped hair on his head. Wildstar knew those last engaging moments were for her.

Joe stayed behind with Jessica, giving her a moment before he spoke. "Doc Randall said you could observe. Are you coming?"

Jessica shook her head. She didn't meet his eyes. She continued to look after her brother. "Not this time…"

The young medic nodded to her then followed the others. They rushed the gurney down the dimly lit stone corridor. She watched her brother disappear into the shadows. The wheels of the gurney echoed against the walls of the underground chamber. It faded into the voices of the lingering crowd. Some watched with questioning trepidation as the medical staff passed.

* * *

To Be Continued

Chapter 4 – The Healer

Peter Conroy's only sister is a healer, but in the shadow of tragedy, where can the healer find solace? Can Jessica move beyond her inner turmoil and find trust and hope in a new friendship?


	4. Chapter 4 The Healer

Title: Legacy, Chapter 4 – The Healer

Author: C. Lear

Rating: PG or K

Story Summary: Season 1 of Starblazers draws to a close when the Star Force returns from Iscandar with their precious cargo. It's just the beginning. The time to recover and rebuild is at hand. Earth's children must emerge from their underground cities and take their place in the sun. However, before they can move forward, they must break the ties to their shattered and broken pasts.

Chapter Summary: Peter Conroy's young sister is a healer, but in the shadow of tragedy, where can the healer find solace? Can Jessica move beyond her inner turmoil and find trust and hope in a new friendship?

Author's Notes: Enjoy!

Warnings: None.

Pairing(s)/Characters: None

Disclaimer: Star Blazers is owned by Voyager Entertainment

Beta Reader: Sybil Rowan! My awesome beta reader!

Date Written: August, 2009

Word Count: 2908

Wildstar could see she was overwhelmed by a sudden flood of emotion. The tension released in her body, and her shoulders slumped. She leaned against the hydraulic arm of the shuttle's ramp behind her, pressing her trembling hands against her face. She was silent as she tried to hide her tears.

"Jessica." Wildstar struggled for words.

Jessica caught her breath and glanced toward his voice. He knew she had momentarily forgotten he was there. She wiped her cheeks with her hands then straightened her body. She tried to regain her professional composure, defiantly lifting her chin. With the steady, confident gait of a Conroy, she brushed passed him and walked down the center aisle of the shuttle. Never meeting his eyes.

"Please go," she said abruptly.

Wildstar didn't move, he watched her as she knelt to retrieve debris from the floor. "I don't think you should be alone."

"I have some cleaning to do. I don't need an audience," she tried her best to sound strong, but the trembling of her voice betrayed her.

"Then let me help you," Wildstar persisted.

"Go! Please..." There was almost a pleading tone in her words, but she didn't turn to look at him.

Before he could object, she snatched the plastic trash receptacle from its frame. She ripped off the cover and pressed her face to the opening. Her body convulsed and arched. The small chamber of the shuttle echoed with guttural retching sounds.

Wildstar knelt on the floor with her, hesitantly touching her back. He heard footsteps on the shuttle's ramp behind them.

"Doc?" Jason appeared at the ramp of the shuttle. "Hey, Doc! Are you alright?" She answered him with louder guttural retching sounds.

"I got it," Wildstar said to him. Wildstar turned to Jessica and brushed the loose strands of hair away from her face. Jason's hesitant footsteps receded down the ramp as he returned to his work in the hanger.

Jessica straightened, giving the impression it was over. Suddenly, her face was back in the receptacle again. A few moments later, she straightened once more, and tried to push Wildstar's hand away. "I don't need your help!"

"Oh, I think you do," Wildstar's voice was gentle, but insistent. "Sit back." He gently guided her to sit in one of the chairs, facing him.

She was too embarrassed to look at him. "I told you, I don't need an audience," she whispered.

"I'm no doctor," he said, retrieving a plastic cool pack from the supply chest, "but I have taken care of a few drinking buddies in my time." He broke the capsule inside the bag and shook it to mix the chemicals. When it turned cold in his hand, he gently pressed it to her cheek.

"I haven't been drinking, Captain…" Jessica tried to stand up, but Wildstar put his other hand on her shoulder.

"I know. It's a shame!" He moved the pack to the back of her neck. "You didn't even get the decency of a good buzz for this lousy hangover."

Wildstar felt her body finally relax; she closed her eyes and resigned herself to the attention. "Don't you have some place to be? Someone must be waiting for you."

"Yeah, well, she understands my work isn't finished until the entire crew is safe. I am sure her family is happy to have her all to themselves right now."

"What about your family?" Jessica asked, as he moved the pack from her neck to her other cheek.

"My brother isn't around anymore."

"I'm sorry…" She said softly, opening her eyes again. She watched him as he stood up and sat down in the chair next to her.

"I'm not," he replied with a reassuring smile. "That's a story for another time."

Jessica tilted her head with some confusion. "Then your parents…"

"A long time ago, but it still seems like yesterday."

"It was quick then," Jessica's voice was almost a whisper and Wildstar nodded, averting his eyes from hers. "It may not seem so right now, but someday, you'll see that as a piece of mercy." Wildstar met her eyes again. She surprised him with her statement. She continued as tears began to flow. "I buried my father five months ago." She paused and wiped her cheek with her hand, but another tear escaped. "He lingered for months." She swallowed hard, it took a few moments for her to find her next words. "No one actually dies of radiation sickness. Did you know that? They die from the secondary infections. They suffer."

"You've suffered too," Wildstar whispered back to her.

"Not like that," she replied in a small voice. "We haven't been able to manufacture basic medications since before you left for your mission! Analgesics, anesthetics, antibiotics, our inventory is almost gone! It's like we're back in the Dark Ages again!"

Wildstar bit his lip before he spoke. He knew she feared for her brother. "Peter is strong. He walked away from that accident… "

"Surviving the accident is one thing!" She interrupted him with a raised voice. "Surviving the recovery is another!" She shook her head, then looked down at the floor. "You don't know what it's been like here! The things I've had to do. The decisions I've made." She clenched her fists. "I'm not the same person that Peter left behind." She looked down at her hands, unable to meet Wildstar's eyes. "I'm much worse!"

"None of us are the same, Jessica. Not even Peter. We've all had to do things that we would rather forget."

It was a curiosity. Both of her brothers wore the uniform, yet she didn't. He understood now, her lack of military affiliation. He heard about young people like her. She was an independent. A rogue with a valuable skill for saving lives. She could go where she wanted and treat whom she wanted without orders or interference. This was the self-inflicted burden of the Civilian Medical Corps.

The military rationed assistance and medical care to conserve resources, especially when an area was considered a loss. Young medics like Jessica attempted to fill in the gaps, evacuating and caring for those that had strength and hope. Sometimes, they assisted others with a peaceful, painless death.

The leather backpack she carried with her was an old medic's bag. The flap bore the faded symbol of a red cross on a white circle. She most likely kept it properly supplied and in her possession wherever she went. She gained passage on military transports by supplementing the medevac crews, which were constantly short-handed.

Pieces fell into place for him. The rapid deterioration of her physical condition made sense. Jessica's work was in the trenches, treating the sick and dying while exposing herself to high concentrations of radiation. A chill went through Wildstar. The brutal affects of radiation exposure compounded over time. Ironically, Wildstar and his crew-mates, including Conroy, were in better health because of their time away from Earth.

"What's your level of exposure, Jessica?" He asked her softly, carefully. "You've been treating the sick in highly radioactive areas." He tilted his head towards hers, urging her to meet his eyes. "How often?"

Jessica suddenly looked at him, her eyes laced with a guarded warning. He was treading where he wasn't welcome. "I go when and where I'm needed!"

Wildstar didn't press her. He knew when she looked at him, it was hard for her to see beyond the uniform. The mistrust between the military and the Civilian Medical Corps was common knowledge. The relationship was tightly intertwined, but tenuous and conflicted.

The focus of the military was defense. They wanted to keep their troops healthy enough to fight, sometimes at the expense of the civilian population. Because manufacturing and production had ceased, the efforts of the military often required the acquisition of medical supplies from civilian sources. Resources usually came from cities slated for evacuation. However, sometimes the Civilian Medical Corps managed to outmaneuver the military. They stashed their own medical supplies with the intent of managing a reserve outside of military or government control.

Viral rumors about the Corps had political significance. Some believed the military propagated nasty rumors to heighten the mistrust within the military. They wanted to discourage their personnel from cooperating or sympathizing with the Corps. It was said the Corps funded their operations with the sale and trade of black market medical supplies.

They often traded with the military for transportation. They were considered rogues and common thieves by military leaders, yet they often supplemented military personnel in large-scale rescue operations. It was even thought some of the military leaders owed their lives to the hands of civilian surgeons.

Jessica finally pushed Wildstar's hand from her face. She rose and moved to the other side of the shuttle, sitting in a chair above the supply chest. She retrieved some tubes wrapped in plastic from the chest.

"I didn't mean to pry, Jessica." He rose to sit in the chair across from hers. "What are you doing?"

"Drawing blood," she replied and she threw the rubber tourniquet around her upper arm.

"Uh, huh… I don't think you're in shape for that right now." He pulled the tourniquet away before she could get it tied.

"Hey," she snatched at it and tried to pull it back.

Wildstar tugged it until it stretched between them. Then he let it go. It snapped back against Jessica's fingers.

"Ouch!" She dropped it and he snatched it off the floor. He held it up between two fingers and smiled at her with victorious sarcasm.

She shot him her best angry look, "Didn't I ask you to go?"

"You did," he said and he started to pull off his shirt, "Look, you can skewer me first while you rest, then you can do yourself… okay?" He pulled a hand held scanner out of the supply trunk and swept it over his arm where his ID chip was implanted. The scanner beeped and displayed his ID number and blood type. He held it up to her and she read the same blood type as her brother.

After a pause, she met his eyes, "Alright," she said flatly, suppressing emotion from the response, but he sensed an underlying gratitude from her for his company. She took the tourniquet from him and began to prepare the materials to draw blood. "Which arm?" She asked and Wildstar lifted his left arm to her.

"Lean back in the seat and try to relax," she said and she pulled the tourniquet tight around his arm. "Squeeze."

He obeyed her instructions without comment and watched the veins swell to the surface of his skin. She pulled the cap from the needle and aligned it with a vein in his arm. "You know," she said and she paused, "I should probably tell you that I'm not really a doctor."

Wildstar smiled, already aware her youth denied her the formal title, but circumstances gave her the experience. "That's alright," he replied with a smile, "I'm not really a Captain." He jumped, surprised at the pinch as the needle sank into his skin.

He noticed her hands as she taped gauze over the entry point of the needle. Without her gloves, they were thin, weathered, and drastically pale. His eyes moved to her face as she watched the blood move down the plastic tubing. Her delicate features bore the signs of exhaustion and frailty, but there was an underlying strength in her he admired.

Wildstar could feel the heat emanating from the blood as the thick liquid oozed down the tube laying over his arm. He found it surprisingly unnerving.

Jessica picked up the cool pack and held it against the back of his neck with the same delicate care he had given her. "Are you alright?" Her stoic veil of professionalism suddenly revealed a genuine empathy in her words. Her blue eyes studied him with concern.

"C'mon," he said, jerking his head to the seat next to him. "You can hold me up. I hate needles."

She smiled at him. "Tough guy, huh?" She wiped her cheeks as she moved to the seat next to him.

"Hey, be grateful," he said. "I'm showing my sensitive side!"

"Peter is terrified of needles," she sank into the chair, propping her feet on the chair across from her.

"Really?" Wildstar looked at her with genuine interest.

She met his eyes, but she couldn't hide the suspicious smirk that crossed her lips. "No, I just thought it might make you feel better."

Wildstar smiled and shook his head. He was comforted by Jessica's sense of humor. It was so much like Peter's.

A comfortable silence fell between them, embraced by a lightened moment of familiarity. It was a welcome reprieve from the true weight of the situation.

The farewell celebration before the Argo departed for its mission came to Wildstar's mind. Various entertainers performed for the crew and their families. There were plenty of bright lights and beautiful music. There was plenty of flash and plenty of distractions for a spectacular send-off, except for her. She was the closing performance. Wildstar recalled it in detail because it was quite beautiful in its simplicity.

"The song you sang to Peter…" he said thoughtfully as memories flooded his mind. "That's where I heard it. You sang it for us before we left."

The lights dimmed and the entire room went dark. A single beam of light suddenly illuminated a young girl in a long black dress. She seemed so small on the stage by herself, but her voice was haunting and ethereal. It carried well beyond her diminutive stature. A room full of hundreds of people fell silent and listened.

She could have stopped time. He remembered, with great fondness, as she hit and held a high note with such passionate intensity and vivid clarity; tears welled in the eyes of the gruffest old soldiers in the room.

Wildstar felt Jessica shift uncomfortably. "Oh, my," the embarrassment was quite evident in her voice, "that crooning I did at the farewell celebration? That's what Peter called it, anyway."

"He said you had the voice of an angel." Wildstar recalled the words from conversations between he and Peter. Peter spoke of his sister with genuine a love and pride, something he obviously did not freely express to his younger sibling.

Jessica paused and looked at Wildstar. She seemed surprised. "He said that?"

"More than once," Wildstar added and he smiled at her.

Wildstar knew the complexities of siblings very well himself. It was a delicate and tedious balance of admiration and envy, love and disappointment, trust and caution. Wildstar never expressed his love for his brother before he was gone. However, after finding him again, conflicts, disagreements, and self-conscious inhibitions were fated to the wind like dying leaves in the fall. He felt certain Peter would forgive this minor violation of confidence.

Wildstar looked at her thoughtfully. "Can I ask? Why did you choose that song?"

She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. "My mother sang us to sleep with that melody when we were little." It seemed as if Jessica wanted to stop with that, but she glanced at Wildstar, momentarily meeting his eyes in the silence. "I chose it because it gave us comfort when we were children. I wanted Peter to remember it."

She had no idea of the impression she had made, the lasting affect she had on those that heard her. The room was so large, not everyone could see her, but her sweet voice carried to every ear. He wished he had words to express it to her, but he wasn't poetic in that way.

"Do you still sing?" Wildstar asked.

Jessica laughed softly as if the question seemed ridiculous. "The world doesn't have any use for entertainers right now."

"I'll bet your mother would disagree."

Jessica's tense composure eased. She leaned her head against his shoulder and sank into the solid support of his body with a long, steady exhale. He knew she was tired. For the moment, he had strength enough for the both of them.

"You won't tell anybody I tossed my cookies, will you?" Jessica asked him.

"Are you going to tell anyone I'm afraid of needles?"

"My lips are sealed," she whispered, then she said softly, "Tell me about my brother."

"What would you like to know?"

"Anything I can use against him later."

Wildstar laughed softly. He felt the weight of her head on his shoulder along with the weight of her fragile trust. "What can I tell you about Bird Dog?"

* * *

To Be Continued

Chapter 5 – Grace

Jessica Conroy meets the extended family her brother has found in the Star Force. They offer her gracious solace, but will her lack of trust and her independent spirit allow her to find comfort among them?


	5. Chapter 5 Grace

Title: Legacy, Chapter 5 – Grace

Author: C. Lear

Rating: PG or K

Story Summary: Season 1 of Starblazers draws to a close when the Star Force returns from Iscandar with their precious cargo. It's just the beginning. The time to recover and rebuild is at hand. Earth's children must emerge from their underground cities and take their place in the sun. However, before they can move forward, they must break the ties to their shattered and broken pasts.

Chapter Summary: Jessica Conroy meets the extended family her brother has found in the Star Force. They offer her gracious solace, but will her lack of trust and her independent spirit allow her to find comfort among them?

Author's Notes: Enjoy!

Warnings: None.

Pairing(s)/Characters: None

Disclaimer: Star Blazers is owned by Voyager Entertainment

Beta Reader: Sybil Rowan! My awesome beta reader!

Date Written: September, 2009

Word Count: 2445

Jessica and Wildstar walked down a narrow hallway that lead from the hanger to the underground's emergency medical facility. The hollow echo of their footsteps changed as the damp walls of stone transitioned to the familiar, fabricated material of the infirmary.

Jessica stopped at the nurses' station. She carefully placed her backpack on the counter and waited for the attendant to acknowledge her. "Is there any word about my brother?"

"No, Jessica. It's much too soon," the attendant replied.

Jessica pulled two pints of blood from her pack and placed them on the counter. "Here, Linda. A donation for Peter."

Linda smiled at her as she took the bags. "I think we are doing just fine in that area, Jessica, but more is always welcome."

Jessica's attention was suddenly drawn by the noise of laughter down the hall. "What's that?" Jessica asked Linda, but she was drawn down the hall toward the noise before Linda could give her an answer. Jessica heard Wildstar's footsteps behind her.

"Those are the other donors!" Linda called after her.

"Jessica? What's the matter?" Wildstar asked as she made a sharp turn to a pair of doors.

"This is a hospital! Not a social gath..." She roughly pushed open the swinging doors and stepped through them. She halted and felt Wildstar nearly run into her from behind.

"Derek!" A young woman pushed her way forward through a small crowd of people and embraced Wildstar.

"Nova!" Wildstar beamed with a surprised smile and hugged her back.

"Wildstar?" A clean-cut, dark-haired man in uniform came forward. "We were starting to worry that the shuttle left you two behind." He looked at Jessica with gentle brown eyes, beaming with an infectious smile. He respectfully took her hand in his. "Mark Venture, Jessica. I'm a friend of Peter's. It's so good to finally meet you!"

"I'm Nova, Jessica." The young woman touched her arm from Wildstar's embrace.

Jessica glanced back at Nova and attempted a reply, but an older man in uniform approached and offered his hand. "Sandor," he said to her. "You look just like your brother's photographs."

She took his hand and nodded to him with a brief smile. Jessica looked back at Wildstar questioningly, but Wildstar shrugged and shook his head.

Jessica opened her mouth to say something, but a young man came forward and offered his hand to her. He had sandy blond hair, which swept up from his forehead. He introduced himself with a friendly smile, "I'm Homer, Jessica, the communications officer. This is Dash, he's our weapons officer." He jerked his thumb to the tall, dark-haired stranger next to him. Dash adjusted his glasses and offered Jessica his hand. Several other crew members came forward and introduced themselves, until Nova finally intervened.

"Okay, everyone, let's give them some room," Nova said to the group. Jessica was grateful for the break. Jessica felt Nova's arm around hers, then her gentle guidance towards the seating area of the large waiting room. Jessica was silently grateful for Nova's graceful diversion. "How long has it been since you've eaten?" Nova asked softly. "Some of the crew brought trays from the banquet."

"I'm… I'm not hungry…" Jessica hesitated. Nova was suddenly aware of her tenseness. She paused beside Jessica. Her soft, brown eyes exuded compassion, but they searched Jessica's face for a response. "Why are you here?" Jessica pulled away from Nova's grasp. Her voice was loud enough to silence the conversations around them. "Your families!" She glanced at the others around them, feeling the weight and the heat of their stares. "This isn't necessary! Cory and I…"

"The mission isn't over until we know Conroy is alright," Sandor interrupted her as he approached.

"It wasn't much of a party without Conroy anyway!" Homer grinned, referring to the banquet held in their honor. Dash acknowledged the inappropriateness of the comment with a light smack to the back of Homer's head.

Jessica brought her hand to her mouth to hide a stifled smile. She wanted to laugh, but her internal, emotional barometer scolded her with guilt. Thoughts of her brother overwhelmed her. They came in powerful waves, washing over her like bitter sea water. Her emotions were tangled and confusing. She was uncertain whether to be grateful for the support or angry at the interference.

'Who are these people?' She thought, looking around her. 'How am I supposed to deal with them?' She felt the sting of fresh tears in her eyes. Soft words of gratitude, heated words of anger, or words of any kind, escaped her.

Jessica's exhaustion tore at the fragile threads of her emotions. Her hand moved from her mouth to her forehead. She desperately wanted the exquisite release of emotion that came with a deluge of tears, but only in seclusion, not surrounded by strangers. How was she going to manage the facade? Her strength, both physical and emotional, failed her. If only she could find a moment's peace, a refuge of solitude.

"Doctor Sane is assisting in your brother's surgery, Jessica." Jessica felt Nova touch her arm again.

She met Nova's eyes, surprised. She was well aware of Doctor Sane's prowess as a trauma surgeon. Jessica acknowledged her with a brief nod.

Jessica felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She turned to meet Sandor's eyes in silence. "We're just here for support. That's all." They regarded each other for a moment. Jessica didn't know him, but there was a calming confidence in his words. His sincerity and his gentle smile were strangely disarming.

Jessica considered his words for a long moment. She placed her hand over his and diverted her eyes from him while gently removing his hand from her shoulder. Her legs felt heavy and weak. A tear escaped and slid down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away and maintained her composure.

"I appreciate what you've done," she began, her voice low and steady, "but I want you to go. All of you." Sandor moved to say something, but he hesitated when Jessica lifted her hands, making a quiet plea for his silence. "I can't do this right now. You should be with your family, and I should be with mine."

Jessica turned away from Nova and Sandor and started toward the entrance. She felt Wildstar's gaze on her as she passed him, but she didn't acknowledge him. She feared if she met his eyes, he would say something to change her mind. She stopped, only when confronted by a small group of men entering the room through the double-doors. They were dressed in the signature pilot's uniform for the Black Tigers. It was her brother's squadron. The young men circled Peter's crash site until they were dangerously low on fuel.

"Hardy! It's about time! We thought you guys would catch up with us eventually!" Mark Venture yelled to them from across the room.

Hardy was the first to move away from the entrance, walking into the room with the reserved, yet assured gait of a soldier returning from battle. Jessica was still and speechless. She felt the color drain slowly from her face. She stared, carefully taking in the details of him. He was just as she remembered.

He shook hands with some of his crew mates and acknowledged others with a friendly nod. The other pilots filed into the room in behind him.

If he ever possessed the brash arrogance of youth, he left it behind long before she knew him. He carried his scars instead. They were a painful reminder of his mortality, his undeniable vulnerability. Yet, they served him well. They balanced his bravado with the weight of hard lessons learned. He was a better pilot, a better teacher, and a better man because of them.

Jessica attempted to regain meager shreds of her confidence. She straightened her body and stiffened her shoulders. In a subtle suggestion of defiance, she lifted her chin, silently refusing the feeling of intimidation, which threatened her in his presence.

Hardy met Jessica's eyes and as he approached her, he never looked away. She wanted to move, to walk past him, but she stood transfixed, trapped by the weight of his gaze. He stopped before her, inches from her, much too close to be strangers.

Jessica didn't step back from him, but her body seemed to withdraw slightly as he drew closer. The defiance of her demeanor faded. An apprehensive uncertainty prevailed in the quiet strength of his presence. Her eyes broke from his as the heat of his body overwhelmed her and she could no longer endure the intensity in his eyes.

"Hardy, this is Conroy's sister," Sandor offered, seemingly oblivious to the situation.

Her eyes followed the wisps of light-brown hair that fell against his face to the defined contour of his jaw line. She studied his lips, the lines of his neck, the oscillation of his skin where his pulse reflected his heartbeat, then the obscure creases on the collar of his uniform.

She was lost in the exquisite detail of him, the movement of his chest as he breathed, the faint sound of his breath as his chest rose and fell. She lifted a hesitant hand. She wanted to touch him, perhaps embrace him, but she was afraid. 'Is he real?' she thought. Her fingers settled against her lips instead.

Hardy took her trembling hand in his steady, confident grasp. He pressed it firmly to his chest, just over his heart.

"Um…" Sandor paused, suddenly aware there was something more between the pair, "So… you guys know each other?"

Jessica closed her eyes. She felt the strength of his grasp, the heat of his hand as it surrounded hers. Tears streamed down her face. Her breath trembled as she drew it in. The steady rhythm of his heart was strong against her palm. She felt his chest gently rise and fall beneath her hand with each breath he took. He had to be real.

Hardy gently touched Jessica's face with his other hand and brushed strands of her hair away from her eyes. Her eyes finally met his. "I am truly sorry about your brother," Hardy said softly to her. His voice had the feel of cool velvet against the skin.

Jessica swallowed hard, but this time her eyes never left his. The gentle sincerity in his voice brought forth more tears. "I... I thought... I would never see you again."

Hardy was raised with a unique Southern gentility that seemed to be his endearing hallmark among his peers. It was the gentleman in him that whispered his next words as he leaned in close to her. "I am going to kiss you now," he said softly, and she could feel his breath against her lips, "so you tell me if you want me to stop." By the end of the sentence, he had closed his eyes and gently pressed his lips to hers.

She never had the opportunity to object. She wouldn't have had the strength. In that fleeting moment, in the hushed silence of the room, it was only the two of them.

Jessica's fragile strength failed her. She felt her legs give way and, without effort, she slipped into the sheltering reprieve of darkness.

* * *

"Didn't see that coming!" Homer said to Dash as they both stared in awe at the pair. Dash just shook his head in reply.

Hardy caught Jessica haphazardly in his arms as she fell. He knelt as the weight of her limp body pulled him down. His hand touched her face as he spoke her name, urging her to open her eyes.

Dash moved forward to assist Hardy, but Homer grasped his arm. "Hardy!" Homer started to point.

Hardy swept the young woman into his arms as he stood. Then he looked at Homer.

Hardy never had a chance to see what Homer was pointing at. The youngest Conroy launched at him from across the room. The sound of Cory's fist connecting with Hardy's jaw was surprisingly loud, causing a collective wince to ripple across the room. Hardy hit the floor, and Jessica fell in a heap across Hardy's body.

"Now, THAT I saw coming!" Homer said to Dash. They looked at each other and nodded wisely.

Cory quickly knelt down and touched his sister's arm. Hardy started to sit up, shaking the blur from his head, but Cory raised his fist to him again. He had every intention of getting another piece of Hardy while he was down.

Homer decided it was time to move in. He and Dash grabbed Cory from behind and pulled him away. Nova rushed to Jessica, and two of the pilots from Conroy's squadron grabbed the red-faced cadet before he could struggle loose from Dash and Homer.

"Alright you guys!" Wildstar said to the pilots, "Get him outside and let him cool off!" The pilots nodded. They had Cory by the arms and started dragging him backwards to the swinging doors. Cory's heels scraped the floor between defiant kicks as they drug him away.

"Officer or NOT!" Cory screamed as he struggled to get loose. "You touch my sister like that again, and I'll…" The swinging doors suddenly muffled his threat as they closed behind them.

"Don't hurt him!" Wildstar called after them, as if he thought the command would do any good. "I mean it!"

* * *

Hardy gathered the young woman into his arms. He nervously hesitated before he touched Jessica's face. He looked up at Nova, "Is she alright?"

Wildstar turned to Hardy, before Nova could respond. "What was THAT?" Wildstar surprised himself with the high pitch of his words.

Hardy glanced at Nova, then looked at Wildstar. He hesitated. Wildstar knew he was wondering if it was a trick question. "A kiss… Suh?" The Southern lilt of his voice lent a mark of innocent sincerity to his answer.

"So, you KNOW her?" Wildstar made his confusion evident in his expression.

"In a manner of speaking, Suh," Hardy replied with hesitation.

"In what manner of speaking is that?" Wildstar shook his head in confusion.

"Not in the… Biblical sense, Suh."

Wildstar balked at the reply and quickly put up his hands, "Never mind! Too much information!"

Jessica stirred in Hardy's arms. Hardy looked down at her again and whispered her name. She opened her eyes, and her face twisted into a confused expression. "Did... you just... drop me?"

Hardy's face froze into an awkward, tight-lipped smirk. "I think you were just dream'n, baby."

Hardy glanced at Nova again. She was smiling at Hardy. Wildstar was convinced Nova had a unique sense for reading people. She could see her way around a guarded exterior without even trying. He admired that quality in her, but he often felt vulnerable in her presence. She had the same affect on Hardy. Hardy's face flushed red, and he responded to her with a lopsided smile.

Nova touched his arm. "She'll be alright, Hardy. We should get her to a bed."

"Oh, no, Romeo!" Wildstar shook his head, "Nova and I will find her a bed!"

"Wildstah…" Hardy said. "It's not like that at all!"

"You go find yourself a cold shower… I mean... something cold for your face!" Wildstar continued as he knelt down to retrieve the tangle of limp arms and legs, which was now Jessica. "Homer," Wildstar began as he lifted Jessica gently from Hardy's arms, "check on the youngest Conroy. Make sure he's still in one piece."

Nova stood with Wildstar and gently touched Jessica's forehead. Jessica groaned softly.

Wildstar glanced at Jessica skeptically. "You're going to let me know if you feel sick, right?"

Jessica brought up her hand and rubbed her face. Without opening her eyes, she pressed her face into his shoulder. "Not if you are going to drop me," came her muffled reply.

"Jessica?" Hardy said.

"Hardy!" Wildstar warned. "Later."

Sandor took the queue and smacked Hardy on the back. "C'mon, Romeo! I saw an ice machine over here. I want to hear all about this 'weak-in-the-knees' technique of yours!"

Hardy shook his head as he rubbed the side of his face. "Oh, my Grandmotha' is gonna' tan my hide when she finds out about this!"

"Your Grandmother?" Sandor asked.

"Oh, yes, suh! That woman is half my size, but I swear, when she's mad, she could scare the Devil right out of Georgia!"

Sandor laughed out loud as they walked. "Too bad we didn't take her to Iscandar!"

"Deslock wouldn't have stood a chance!" Hardy replied.

* * *

To Be Continued

Chapter 6 – Fire and Ice

Jefferson Davis Hardy recalls his baptism by fire and how it is strangely intertwined with the most captivating moment of his life.


	6. Chapter 6 Fire

Title: Legacy, Chapter 6 – Fire

Author: C. Lear

Rating: PG or K

Story Summary: The Star Force returns from Iscandar with its precious cargo, but it's just the beginning. The time to recover and rebuild is at hand. The children of Earth must emerge from their underground cities and take their place in the sun. However, before they can move forward, they must break the ties to their shattered and broken pasts.

Chapter Summary: Jefferson Davis Hardy recalls his baptism by fire and how it is strangely intertwined with the most captivating moment of his life.

Author's Notes: Enjoy!

Warnings: None.

Pairing(s)/Characters: None

Disclaimer: Star Blazers is owned by Voyager Entertainment

Beta Reader: Thanks again, Sybil Rowan!

Date Written: June, 2010

Word Count: 3334

The basic trainers were bound to Earth's atmosphere. They didn't have the performance capability of the Astro Fighters Hardy wanted to fly someday. They were atmospheric trainers. Their purpose was to instill the fine points of aerodynamics. It helped the pilot understand how an aircraft reacted as it passed through molecules of air, denying the ever-present desire of gravity.

Hardy enjoyed the night flights the most during his basic training on Earth. It was as close as he could get to space when he was a young cadet. A cascade of stars welcomed him in the night. There were no cities or lights on the desolated landscape to obscure them. The wind was usually calm, and the dust settled to the Earth. The veil of night cooled the shattered ground and calmed the rising thermals. Even turbulence rested in the night.

With only the timid light of the stars to light the surface, it was easy to forget what had become of Earth. The desolate landscape was tragic, but it became his playground. There were few, if any, regulations or restrictions on airspace. No confinements, no limits. If his instructor saw fit, they could race along the nap of the Earth or they could push his trainer to the edge of the atmosphere.

Hardy was an advanced student, one of the top students in his class. His instructor often rewarded him at the end of each training session with a few moments of peace. He looked forward to those brief occasions when the constant chatter of corrections and opinions fell silent.

"So when is the big day, ma'am?" Hardy's voice broke the steady faint static of the radio.

"March twenty-fifth," Frodo replied. Hardy sensed she was smiling in the seat behind him.

"You're not going to break that boy's heart and leave 'em standing at the alter, are you?"

"Do you mean am I going to let him off the hook? Not a chance! Watch your approach. You're picking up the nav."

The TACAN for the underground landing strip registered on his instruments. He was twenty kilometers out. It was time to set up for the approach.

He missed the convenience of the GPS systems, but most of the satellites in the supportive network for GPS navigation were destroyed. The effort to revert back to the ground-to-air navigation of the fixed-base system was successful. It was older navigation technology, but it was reliable and there was no dependency on the GPS satellite network.

Hardy eased back on the throttle and gently raised the nose of the aircraft, slowing his airspeed. He engaged the flaps and pushed the nose forward. The aircraft settled into its approach speed. He set the appropriate frequency into the radio and tapped his mike twice. In the distance, the faint light of the landing ball appeared. Behind it was a dim trail of lights, receding into a cavernous darkness in the earth.

"I've got the ball," Hardy said to his instructor.

"You know the drill," Frodo snapped, "airspeed and runway! Two degrees to your left! Get your nose down! I taught you better than this!"

Hardy smiled to himself as he carried out her demands. By now, he was used to the constant barking of an instructor in his ears. It was white-noise to him. They entered the glide path with the appropriate descent speed. He held it in the narrow window, coordinating with minute adjustments on the stick and with the slow, steady reduction of the throttle.

The mountains rose around them, and the horizon disappeared as they followed the glide path to the jagged earth. They were enveloped by blackness. The mouth of the underground runway swept passed them. Only the haunting glow of the instruments lit their surroundings. The faint trail of the runway lights stretched out before them, providing minimal guidance.

Hardy released his anxious grip on the stick, and he pulled it back with only the delicate touch of his index finger. The technique stayed his excitement and kept him from pulling the nose up too hard. There was very little room for mistakes inside those walls. The massive aircraft gently sank to the tarmac. There was a brief screech of tires, then the nose wheel settled to the ground. The cockpit rumbled with the solid sound of the concrete beneath the tires.

"Like a butterfly with sore feet!" Frodo smacked the top of Hardy's helmet as he applied the brakes. "Good job!"

* * *

It was because of her petite stature of five feet, four inches, her colleagues lovingly dubbed her 'Frodo'. The name was cemented forever in the historical annals of the Academy when she rushed to an emergency briefing with damp hair. She did not have time to tuck away her natural curls as usual.

"What is this? Fellowship of the Ringlets?" A superior commented in front of her fellow pilots. After a chorus of laughter and an informal christening with a sprinkle of stale coffee, Frodo the flight instructor was named. However, because she was superior in skill to Hardy, and because she outranked him, he always referred to her with a respectful "ma'am". Just to be safe.

'It's a shame that flying skills are not closely linked with drawing skills,' Hardy thought. He snickered at her attempt to sketch the trainer on the whiteboard.

She eyed him over her shoulder. "Do you have something to share with me, Cadet?"

"No, ma'am," he replied quickly, "Nice drawing, though… Is that a bird or a plane?"

She turned with her hands on her hips. She was trying hard to be serious, but Hardy could tell she was working to suppress a smile. "Alright," she began, pointing to the obscure sketch in blue marker on the whiteboard, "This is a plane, not a bird! Let's talk about…." Her voice suddenly trailed off into silence.

Hardy looked at her strangely, waiting for her to continue, until he realized she was reacting to the vibration of the room around them. He sat up straight in his chair and watched a half-empty coffee cup left on the table softly vibrate, shudder, then tip over. Hardy locked eyes with Frodo. He knew they were thinking the same thing. They sprung at the same time, Hardy violently pushing his chair out of his path.

They rushed from the briefing room to the edge of the underground tarmac and stared in disbelief. Debris from the ceiling showered down on the aircraft neatly aligned at the edge of the runway. The collapse of the stone ceiling did not register until a chunk of it hit the floor between them and shattered.

"The stairwells…" Frodo said softly.

"What?"

"Let's GO! Get to the stairwells!" She screamed as she pointed across the tarmac to the stairwell doors. "They're reinforced!" She grabbed Hardy's arm and pulled him with her as she started to run across the long flat surface.

Hardy was shaken to his knees in mid-stride by the unsteady ground. Frodo turned and offered her hand as he tried to get up. He reached out for it, but something smacked hard against his shoulder. He screamed. His own voice sounded hollow and thin against the thundering sounds from the trembling earth.

He felt her hands on his arm. "Get up, Cadet!"

"Yes, ma'am!" He screamed as he tried to get to his feet.

"We can't stop here!"

"No, ma'am!" He was finally on his feet and Frodo started to turn away from him.

A flash of light suddenly engulfed them. It was surreal. It must have lasted for only a few seconds, but everything seemed to unfold very slowly. Frodo squeezed her eyes shut at the sudden assault of light. Her black, chin-length hair blew into her face.

Hardy tried to shield his eyes, but there wasn't enough time. He was lifted from his feet by a violent rush of heated air. A deafening roar followed. He was thrown against something flat and solid, it must have been the wall. The impact forced the air from his lungs. He heard the sickening crack of shattering bones.

He fell to the floor in a paralyzed heap, mercifully numb. He was embraced by the benevolent grace of blackness. For a few lingering moments, over the deafening roar of flames and the sporadic hiss of the fire extinguishing system, he could hear the calm, surreal, female voice of the computer as it urged their evacuation. Although he tried to fight it, his consciousness slowly receded into silence.

* * *

He awoke to the faint echo of a melody in a young girl's voice. It drifted hauntingly around him, touching him briefly, then receding into the darkness. 'Was he dead? No,' he thought. 'If I were dead, it wouldn't hurt so much.' He tried to take a breath, but he froze. Every inch of skin, muscle, and bone screamed with agony from the slight movement. He laid still, listening to the silvery voice and its eerie melody, focusing hard on his one fragile thread of comfort.

"…_.you shine where you stand  
And the more I think on you the more I think long  
If I had you now as I had once before  
All the lords in Old England …"_

The singing paused and a cold silence was upon him. It lingered for a long moment and he felt the pounding of his heart in his ears. The tentative footsteps of a human being echoed around him and he knew for certain he was alive. Suddenly, a girl's voice spoke out, "Hello? Is anyone there?"

There was another long pause. Hardy tried to move again. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him. He began to cough uncontrollably; the contraction of his muscles forced agonizing spasms of pain through him. He groaned. The sound scattered against the walls in a faint repercussion.

"I hear you!" Came the small voice. It seemed distant now. It was fading quickly. "Say something! Where…" Before he could gather the strength to utter a word, he was pulled under again, into unconsciousness. He was swallowed into a dark, pitiful silence. It was exactly where he didn't want to go.

* * *

Something tapped against his face. It was cold. It was wet. He struggled to reach the surface of his consciousness. He thought he opened his eyes, but there was nothing but blackness. He reacted. His flailing hand connected hard with something. He heard the piercing scream of a woman.

"Don't fight!" The voice shouted. "Don't fight me!"

He felt something on his face. He wanted it off, so he pulled it away. There was something around his neck! He grabbed at it. It was stiff and hard and it kept him from moving. He wanted it off, but something restrained him. He reached out with his free arm and something caught him by the wrist. He started to pull away from it and pain shot through him like lightening. It must have jerked him to his senses because the woman's voice pierced the ringing in his ears.

"Stop it!" The voice grew louder. "Stop moving! Don't! You'll pull out the IV!"

The commands suddenly registered with him and he froze. His breathing was rapid and strained. Its raspy sound was all he could hear in the dark.

"Easy!" The voice was strong at first, its tone forceful. It was a contradiction to its gentle nature. "Take it easy!"

"What…" His voice was rough and weak. He couldn't force the words through his swollen throat. "I can't see! My eyes!" He could only manage a whisper. Each word burned in his throat.

"I know! I know! It's all right!"

Terror struck him hard. Panic seeped in as he tried desperately to catch his breath. 'Why can't I see? Why can't I breathe? God, help me!' He thought and he struggled to get to his feet. The woman's grip on his wrist tightened and she forced his arm to the floor. He felt the weight of her body across his.

"Listen to my voice!" The girl's voice was strained as she fought against him. "Listen to me! You need to slow your breathing! Stop fighting me!"

The girl's steady words began to sink into him. He settled into stillness, his strength depleted. "Oh... oh, my God... it hurts..."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." She released her tight grasp on him. The weight of her body rose from his. She must have been sitting on his other arm because he felt the restraint lifted as she moved. "Try to breath easy." He heard the hiss of air as something familiar was placed over his mouth and nose.

He took in a breath of air. His chest rose and he felt the agony of shattered bones within his torso. "It... hurts... to breath!" He desperately wanted the relief of a deep breath, but he could only manage short and shallow inhalations.

"That should subside. I've given you something for the pain." She took his hand in hers, and he felt the warmth of her body beneath his palm. He felt the vibration of her voice in his fingers. "Can you feel me breathing?" She took in an exaggerated breath, sucking it through her lips so he could hear her. "Try to breathe with me!"

Her heartbeat was strong and steady, but rapid from her tangle with him. Its rhythm was constant and comforting against his palm. Her chest rose and fell with each breath. He focused on the movement. The inhale and the exhale. He tried to match his breathing with hers.

He steadied himself; his panic slowly subsided into a manageable anxiety. The tension in his body gently eased and the pain began to subside. Breathing became easier and less painful with each steady inhale.

"That's good. Better." He felt her fingers run over the I.V. site on his hand. She slowly pulled his arm straight and turned his palm up. He felt the agonizing restriction, the painful tightness of damaged skin as she moved him. There was a rustling of plastic. "Little stick." The prick of a needle at the bend of his arm surprised him and he jerked in response. She tightened her grip on his arm to keep him still. She released his arm and it rested in her lap as she kept working. "You have chemical burns. I'm trying to rinse your eyes." The fluid tapped his face again and he jerked. "It's just saline! Water! I need you to be still!" He tried to obey her, but he suddenly realized his body was violently shivering.

He vaguely felt her fingers touch the swollen skin of his face. There was no pain when they tried to pry open his eyelids, only pressure. It was numb. When a cold jet of water found his eyeball, he felt a sharp, penetrating sting. He wanted to slap the probing hands away. Instead, he clenched his fists and squeezed them hard against the pain.

"You're... medic?" Hardy whispered through clenched teeth. He was aware of her leaning over him. He heard the faint sound of her breathing.

"More or less." Her voice seemed distant as she focused on her work.

"What…" He hesitated as another sharp pain shot through him, "What does that mean? More or less?"

"I know enough to be lethal. I would pipe down and let me concentrate if I were you."

"My instruct..." Hardy tried to swallow, but his swollen throat hurt him. "There was a woman…"

"Yes, I know. I found her."

A tense silence fell between them. When the young voice did not volunteer more information, Hardy tried to speak again, "Help… help her first."

"I can't."

Hardy's body stiffened. "…Sure?…"

"I checked her."

"Sure?…" The distraction in her voice irritated him. He moved his hand and grabbed for her arm. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure!" The fluid stopped flowing onto his eyes when his fingers tightened around her wrist. She sounded equally irritated. "Do you know what the femoral artery is?"

Hardy was silent except for his shivering. He knew she was going to tell him.

"It's the largest conduit for blood circulation in the lower extremities. You have one that goes down each leg. The one in her right leg is severed. Probably shrapnel from the explosion. Considering the amount of adrenaline pumping through you two, it didn't take her long to bleed out." She pulled her wrist free from him; the fluid started to flow over his eyes again. "I don't think she felt much. Like I said, I can't help her."

"Married…" he whispered. "She was getting married… next month." Hardy felt the girl pause, but only momentarily.

"I'm sorry," she said softly but there was little empathy in her words. "You're the one I can help right now. If I don't get this out of your eyes, it will do more damage. Rest your airway. We've got to keep the swelling down. I don't have the tools to intubate properly here." He was relieved when he felt the fluid stop once more. "The dispatch log, was it accurate?" He heard the rustling sound of plastic or paper. She was rapidly sorting through something. "It was just you and the lieutenant. Would there be anyone else up here? Maintenance personnel? Anyone?" The rustling paused. She was waiting for his reply.

"I… I don't know."

"That's okay. You're stable now." There was the sharp clank of metal against concrete. He sensed she was rifling around in a pack. "I need to make a sweep of the area to check for more survivors." He felt her pull a blanket over him. He sensed it was one of the foil blankets employed by military medics. They reflected body heat with great efficiency. It crinkled slightly as she unfolded it and tucked it in around him. "Don't struggle against the restraints. Stay still. You're immobilized to protect your spine. Do you understand?"

He reached up and grasped her arm again. He was gentle this time. "I… hit you… Sorry…"

He felt her hand around his. She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "You'd be surprised how often that happens in my line of work. It was my fault. I didn't duck in time."

She started to move away, but he didn't release her. "Don't…"

"Try to rest. I won't be gone long. You'll be able to hear me."

"You sing..." he rasped.

"It calms my nerves."

"Mine... mine too."

There was a hesitation between them. He imagined, and he hoped, his words brought a smile to her face. This helplessness, this dependence, was new and frightening to him. He desperately wanted her to stay, but he reluctantly let her go as she gently pulled away from him. Tentative footsteps marked the distance as it grew between them. He was left with only the comfort of an ethereal melody as her delicate voice echoed through the burned-out caverns of stone.

"…_All the birds in the forest they bitterly weep  
Saying, 'Where will we shelter or where will we sleep?'  
For the Oak and the Ash, they are all cutten down  
And the walls of bonny Portmore are all down to the ground..." _

* * *

To Be Continued

Chapter 7 – Remembrance

Hardy is severely injured by a catastrophic explosion in an underground hanger. He is completely dependent upon the skills of a young, but determined rescuer. She must find a way to get them both out safely.


	7. Chapter 7 Remembrance

Title: Legacy, Chapter 7 – Remembrance

Author: C. Lear

Rating: PG or K

Story Summary: The Star Force returns from Iscandar with its precious cargo, but it's just the beginning. The time to recover and rebuild is at hand. The children of Earth must emerge from their underground cities and take their place in the sun. However, before they can move forward, they must break the ties to their shattered and broken pasts.

Chapter Summary: Severely injured by a catastrophic explosion in an underground hanger, Jefferson Hardy struggles to survive the agony of his wounds. He must trust in the skills of a young, but determined rescuer. Her own struggle is to find the way out for both of them, before it's too late...

Author's Notes: Enjoy!

Warnings: None.

Pairing(s)/Characters: None

Disclaimer: Star Blazers is owned by Voyager Entertainment

Beta Reader: Thanks again, Sybil Rowan!

Date Written: July, 2010

Word Count: 3897

His body's violent shaking subsided into an occasional shiver. The pain was a dull throbbing now. Hardy could move without the nagging, sharp stabs of agony, but it was an effort. His breathing was strained. Its ragged sound berated the silence.

He wanted the young woman to come back and tell him what had happened. So he waited. Her melody faded into the recesses of the caverns some time ago.

She gave him something before she left him, something for the pain. It made him tired, but he didn't want to sleep. He had no sense of time in his private darkness. His head swarmed with blurry memories from his past, until a pleasant one settled with him. It was the memory of a woman's face. The girl on the intracity tram. Her delicate features, and her lovely smile, remained with him long after she left him. He often wondered what had become of her.

She boarded at a stop near the center of the underground city. Hardy rose from his seat as she searched the crowded car for a chair. He offered his seat, as any gentleman would do for a lady. She repaid his kindness with her acceptance of the offer and followed it with a captivating smile, exclusively for him. He was spellbound for a moment as she settled into the chair and looked out the window. The tram jerked to life and he nearly toppled over, but he quickly grabbed the bar above him. He sheepishly glanced at the beauty, relieved her attention was diverted elsewhere.

Hardy was a gentleman first, but he couldn't help but stare at her. The artificial sunlight of the underground city had a cool, bluish tint to it, but it illuminated her skin with an enduring glow. Each time she glanced his way, he managed to avert his eyes in time, but he was certain his flushed face betrayed him. The next glance was the last, because her vibrant blue eyes held him. They stared at each other. Like a deer in the proverbial headlights, he was frozen. At least, until she smiled at him again.

The apprehension in Hardy told him to avert his eyes, to look the other way, but as long as she held his gaze, he couldn't. He made a nervous attempt to return her smile.

The tram began to slow and a computerized voice announced the next stop. She averted her eyes as she rose to her feet, breaking the fragile connection between them. She moved past him in the crowded car. He could have moved back, allowing her more room. Instead, he allowed her to brush past him. Her shoulder touched him, then her slender back was against him. Before she could move too far from him, the tram stopped abruptly. Her delicate frame leaned against him with the motion. Her blond hair brushed against his face. She smelled like roses.

She glanced back at him again, not meeting his eyes this time. "I'm sorry." Her voice was soft and pleasant.

Hardy tried to force out something, but it wouldn't come. He stood there, still grasping the bar above him, his mouth open.

She made her way to the door and looked back at him once more. This time she met his eyes. Someone passed between them. In the next moment, she was gone. He searched the windows for her, but she was lost in the crowd of people on the platform. For a moment, he thought of leaving the tram and going after her, but the doors closed and the tram began to move.

He regretted that young woman. Why didn't he speak to her? 'Coffee? Can I get your number?' It seemed so easy in hind-sight. He could have had some precious moments with her before this happened.

He wondered how he would appear to her now. He knew he was badly scarred. Injuries like this could be scary for a young woman. Even with regenerative technology, burns never healed without leaving behind substantial damage. If he knew her better, he was certain it would hurt more to lose her.

'What did it matter?' He thought. 'What if I can't fly again? What if I'm blind?' His life, his career as he knew it, gone in the brutal flash of an explosion. Worst of all, he might never see the face of the young woman on the tram again. If he survived, he feared the path of his life was irrecoverably altered.

He was relieved to hear his rescuer's footsteps in the distance. The sound of her movement distracted him from his thoughts. She had an agile way of moving. There must have been debris scattered in her path, but her steps were light and quick.

He heard her move near him. The faint rustling of her clothes and the sound of her diminutive frame as it settled to the ground next to him were strangely comforting. A gentle hand touched his forearm through the blanket. "Let's hope the dispatch log was accurate. I haven't found anyone else."

"…happening…" came the only word he could squeeze through his narrowing throat. Although the burning had faded, the swelling forced him to drag in each breath.

"What's happening?" The voice asked, and he tried to nod, but couldn't. "I understand," she said, and he felt the weight of another blanket over him. He felt her pull it over his body and adjust it. "It was a planet bomb. It hit very close to here. The Academy is too close to the surface. The most severe damage is here in the hanger area, of course. I guess we are lucky it hit at night. There was some damage to the Academy facilities below too. By now, they have rescue personnel searching the barracks." Her hand touched his forehead. She swept his hair back with her fingers. "Try not to worry about that now. You need to rest. They'll be coming for us soon."

Her touch, her voice, and her presence were soothing. He relaxed as much as the faint throbbing of his injuries would allow. He had no strength to fight the gentle embrace of unconsciousness. Her hand slipped beneath the blankets and grasped his hand. His fingers tightened around hers. He knew she would stay with him now. She would watch over him while he slept.

* * *

He awoke with a start. His body jerked in response to the sharp sound of static.

"What took you so long?" The girl asked and Hardy realized the static was from a hand-held radio. He moved his fingers and felt her hand still resting over his.

"Where are you?" Came a man's voice from the radio.

"Did you get my note?" She asked.

"'Gone fishing?' That's a note?" The man's voice was heated.

"It was next to the dispatch log," she replied calmly. "I thought you'd figure it out."

"The log for the hanger? You're in the hanger? How did you get up there?"

"I took the elevator."

"The power... The elevators aren't..." The tone of his voice suddenly changed. "You climbed the elevator shaft, didn't you?"

There was a long pause before she responded, then a click and a hiss of static. "I'm your best climber! What else am I gonna' to do?"

"Your father is going to kill me!"

"What my Dad doesn't know…"

"Is going to eventually come back and bite me in the butt!"

"Are you finished?"

"For now! At least until I can get my hands around your neck!"

"I've got a young male, in his late teens, early twenties, I think." Hardy moved his hand beneath hers as an affirmation. She squeezed his hand in response. "He's suffered severe blunt trauma to his right side, including his head, but he's conscious and lucid. Contusions around the chest cavity indicate some fractured ribs. He also has chemical burns to his eyes, face, neck, and some of his upper torso. He was pretty shocky when I found him, but he's taking fluids now. I had to give him something for the pain. There was no way around that. How soon until I can get some assistance up here?"

"I'm not sure… I'll call dispatch. There's debris in the stairwells. You know what the elevator shafts look like. We might be able to send someone down the entrance for the runway, but we need to get some units up there to see if it's clear. It's a mess down here. There are a lot of injured. You may just have to sit-tight for a bit. Can you keep him stable?"

She paused before answering. Hardy sensed her hesitation. "I have another bag of saline... I'm worried about the head trauma…" Her voice faded into a growing reverberation. The rumble grew louder. The earth around them and below them began to tremble and shake. Hardy could hear the stones crack, and pieces fell around them like hail.

He felt the girl's body leaning over him, shielding him from the falling debris. He felt her trembling breath against his forehead. Her cool fingers touched the side of his face as she covered him.

The thunderous sound faded, then echoed into the silence of the cavern. They were frozen for a long moment. They waited, silently. The hand-held cracked to life near Hardy's ear.

"Did you feel that?" Came the man's uneasy voice.

"Yes," she said, and Hardy felt her pull away. "Aftershock?"

"I hope so. I don't think this place can take another direct hit right now."

"I don't think we have much time... Whatever you are going to do... hurry."

"I'm on it." A sharp click from the radio marked the end of the transmission. They were left in silence.

A few moments passed between the pair. He couldn't see her face, but even through the haze of the medication, the girl's fear and apprehension washed over him. He lifted his hand from under the blankets, reaching for her. She must have put the radio down because he felt both of her hands wrap around his. "Talk to me," he whispered to her.

"Talk?" She replied softly. "About what?"

"Don't… care… Like… your voice." He was weary from the medication, but adrenaline pumped through him. She was steady and strong, but he knew he needed to occupy her mind. It was his turn to provide comfort to her. If she was anything like him, it was hard to sit still and wait. It was too easy to dwell on the situation.

She released his hand and stood. He heard the sharp scrape of her boots on the concrete. She was sliding her feet , listening to the sound as she thought. She was like him. She couldn't sit still.

It wasn't long before his senses discovered what was making the young girl so anxious. The faint smell of smoke from a smoldering fire washed over him. He pushed the oxygen mask away from his face, sniffing the air. It was definitely smoke.

He bit his lip as his mind raced. It stopped short at one conclusion. "You have to go..." He managed strength in his voice this time. He wanted her to hear him clearly.

She cut him off with a loud retort. "That's not an option!"

Hardy silently cursed, frustrated with the stubborn young woman. He wouldn't have her suffer the same fate. Not because of him. "Not safe..."

"Be quiet! Let me think!" There was a long pause between them. He heard faint, words from her, as if she was talking to herself, then the quick scuff of her boots faded into the distance.

Hardy listened for her after the fading footfalls. His body began to shiver again, provoked by his anxiety. He could hear only slow, rhythmic drops of liquid as they plunked into a nearby puddle. He grimly wondered if it was water from the extinguishing system or jet fuel. Maybe it was both.

Hardy was not easily rattled. Despite his ambitions, where others his age were restless and anxious, he had an easy nature about him. These circumstances were testing every nerve and every ounce of his resolve. If it had not been for the narcotic affects of the pain medication, the sudden burst of raw, guttural noise in the distance would have propelled him to his feet, despite his restraints. 'A straining hydraulic motor?' He thought. The sound was soon joined by the ear-splitting screech of warping metal. Then, silence once more.

To Hardy's relief, he heard the footsteps of the young woman coming closer. Her steps were slower this time, less graceful and more deliberate. She coughed as she moved toward him, an indication the smoke was getting heavy. When she returned to his side, she was winded. He heard something large and heavy drop to the concrete beside him. He pulled the mask from his face and held it out, hoping she would see it. He felt her fingers wrap around his hand. She pulled the mask toward her, and he felt her lean into it as she took a deep breath. She paused and took another breath, pulling the mask away to exhale.

"Thank you." She gently pushed the mask toward his face and helped him position it.

He heard static from the hand-held again, then a click to open the channel. "Eddie?... Eddie, where's my back-up?" There was a long pause and the two of them anxiously awaited an interruption in the static.

"They're fully involved..." The man's voice was almost timid. "Dispatch..." His voice faded.

"Dispatch what?" The woman prodded the man with her furious words.

"Just hold tight... I'll get someone to you!"

The woman released a sigh. Hardy sensed her frustration. "There's smoke up here, Eddie! The extinguishing system isn't responding! Is anyone coming?"

"Not yet! Dispatch said it's a matter of numbers..."

"Don't give me excuses!" She shouted into the hand-held, and he heard the radio collide with the concrete tarmac in the distance. Hardy was suddenly aware their situation was deteriorating rapidly.

After a moment, he heard her move closer to him. Her voice was softer when she spoke to him. "Listen. I thought we had more time." She tucked a fluid-filled bag under his arm and pulled the blanket over it. He surmised it was the saline attached to his arm. There was rustling near him. The familiar click of belt clips marked her words as she spoke. "I'm going to have to move you myself."

Hardy was silent as he listened to the efficient movements of her hands. He had no reservations about her competence, only frustration over his immobility. He winced when she pulled and tightened each strap over his legs.

"Something else I should mention... This road's going to be a little bumpy." She pulled a belt across his hips, pulling it snug over his pelvis. This time he cried out. The medication was wearing off. "I'm sorry! I've got to secure you to the backboard! Hang in there! I found a stretcher-basket in the wreckage of a medevac." Hardy realized the sound of the hydraulic motor was from the ramp of a shuttle. There must have been enough power in reserve for her to open it.

She was more careful with the belt across his chest. She pulled slowly until it was tight. She removed the oxygen mask from his face, and he heard the rustling of her bag as she stowed it with the small oxygen tank.

She bent over him and grasped the backboard near his shoulders. She lifted the backboard under his head with a steady, controlled movement. He tensed as his body adjusted to the new angle. She set him down carefully. She moved to his legs and, in another smooth movement, she lifted the other end into the basket. He was embraced by thick, impact cushioning around him. He reached out and felt the cool, brushed aluminum of the frame surrounding him.

He heard the sound of smooth rope sliding against the hollow aluminum tubing. He felt the gentle rocking of the stretcher-basket as she secured it. She pulled the rope tight with a sudden jerk.

"Where... where are we going?" Hardy heard the crisp snap of carabiners and the ringing of metal implements dangling against each other. 'A harness?' He thought.

"Back the way I came... the elevator shaft!"

The stretcher moved beneath him and metal scraped against concrete. "I... I don't mean to seem ungrateful, ma'am," Hardy spoke over the noise as another forceful jerk moved him again, "but how?"

"Any way I can! We don't have time to consider alternatives! Let's hope I brought enough rope!"

Hardy tried to speak again, but his voice was still weak. It faded into the grating noise of the dragging stretcher.

* * *

The smell of smoke was stronger now. The monotonous dragging noise suddenly stopped and gave way to the distant sounds of sirens in the background. Part of the extinguishing system was still working, just not the part they needed.

Hardy heard the woman collapse to the floor. She was coughing.

"You... alright? Hey..."

"I'm fine!... I'm alright!" She responded quickly, but paused as she tried to catch her breath. "I didn't know pilots could weigh so much!"

Hardy felt relieved. She was making jokes and it eased him. "It's... it's all muscle!" He replied. She responded with a gentle laugh, but it was interrupted by the ominous rumbling of the earth around them.

He felt her lean over him again, shielding his head against raining debris. He reached up and touched her arm. She was trembling.

He was aware her face was close to his. Despite the pain of the burns on his face, he could feel her breath against his skin. "Your name..." He spoke softly. He could manage complete sentences in a whisper.

"What?" She lifted her head, but put it back down when another shower of debris hit them.

"I would like to know... your name."

"Right..." she whispered over the sound of hailing debris hitting her back, "Jessica..."

"Jefferson Davis Hardy, ma'am. Under better circumstances... I would be at your service."

"Under better circumstances, we might not have met."

"I take it, you're a glass-half-full type of person." The rumbling continued and another shower of debris was upon them.

Finally, the noise subsided; and again, they were very still, awaiting another wave of chaos. "You don't have to do this..." He whispered to her.

She pulled away from him, and he heard her brush the dust from her clothing and hair. "I take it, you're a glass-half-empty type of person."

"Ma'am?"

"Have some faith, Jefferson Davis." She got to her feet as she spoke. "I haven't given up on you. Don't give up on me so easily."

"I didn't mean it like..."

"We're in this together!... We're getting out of this together!" A sudden jerk set the stretcher-basket moving again and the monotonous scraping of metal against concrete continued.

* * *

Getting to the crippled elevator shafts was a long and arduous process, but she was tenacious. She stopped to move debris aside, making sounds as she struggled against the weight of obstacles. Sometimes, she had to drag the stretcher-basket over large mounds of rubble, but she kept moving.

Hardy sensed the young woman was trying to move faster now. The smell of smoke was stronger, and it was taking its toll on both of them. She coughed, and she stopped more frequently to catch her breath. Hardy's throat burned and tightened as he breathed the rancid air.

They finally came to a stop, and Hardy sensed genuine urgency in the young woman's movements. More rope slid against the aluminum frame. Strange sounds followed: the ringing of metal against metal, sharp snaps, and soft rustling. He occupied his hazy mind, attempting to identify each of them.

One sound was familiar and menacing. It roared softly above the others. Suddenly, a wave of heat swept over them. Hardy felt a sudden change in the pressure of the air around them.

"Jessica..." Hardy whispered.

"I know..."

"I think..."

"I know..."

The stretcher-basket moved again, slowly scraping the concrete until he felt a gentle rocking sensation. He was suddenly suspended. The ropes creaked eerily with the strain of his weight. He heard debris fall and hit far below him. The sounds echoed against the walls around them. His blindness seemed like a blessing in that moment.

"Okay, I'm going to lower your feet! You're going down feet first! It's too narrow to keep you horizontal!"

He felt the angle of the stretcher change, inch by inch. Each movement and adjustment was slight, yet quick and deliberate. Gravity pulled at him, but he slipped very little in the padded cocoon of the stretcher. He felt the straps against his broken body and he cringed. He silently hoped it wasn't a long way down.

The explosions began in the distance. It was a chain-reaction of thunderous noise and showering debris. The stone walls shuddered around them once more. It was more terrifying than the first time, because the dissonance approached with an ominous, angry force.

"Jessica..." Hardy began, but his weak voice was quickly overwhelmed by the menacing roar.

Like the stifling breath of an angry beast, a rush of heated air surged at them. Hardy clenched his fists, helplessly anticipating the violent onslaught. Another deafening roar followed. This one surrounded him and resonated through him. Suddenly, suffocating heat and debris swept down on him. The stretcher lurched ferociously then slammed hard against the wall of the elevator shaft. He felt the sensation of a sudden drop. The ropes were giving way!

The noise subsided as quickly as it had begun. He coughed hard, choking on dust, smoke, and bitter ash. "Jessica..." he tried to scream, but his words were choked by violent coughing.

There was no response from the young woman. His only answer was the creaking of the fragile suspensions above him. They were synchronized with the gentle sway of the stretcher.

He was trembling with pain. His breath was anxious and rapid, but as the narrow aperture of his throat slowly closed, his exhalations became feeble and weak. Exhaustion pulled at him. His extremities tingled and slowly went numb. Each breath was a struggle, until he couldn't breath anymore. The sounds around him dissipated into hollow, empty blackness. 'Finally,' he thought, 'this is what it feels like...'

* * *

To Be Continued

Chapter 8 – Gravity

The only way out is the way through... but the way through has it's own challenges...


	8. Chapter 8 Gravity

Gravity

_The only way out is the way through..._

* * *

Words... he heard words in the blackness... two voices. He took in a deep breath. His lungs suddenly expanded with air. It felt so good. He felt a sudden sense of relief, as if he had escaped the suffocating depths of water. The relief was temporary. The pain returned, persistent and unwelcome.

He heard the sound of air moving as he breathed. 'Strange,' he thought 'the sound...' He tried to swallow, but his throat was a swollen mass. He took in another deep breath, and as his awareness returned, he realized the sound was his breath traveling through a narrow tube. He accepted it without faltering. He was too exhausted to panic.

"Breath-sounds!" Jessica's familiar voice filtered through his agonizing uncertainty. "Pack around the incision! There shouldn't be much blood."

Hardy lifted his arm, reaching for whatever was within reach. Another hand met his. The young woman's familiar, delicate fingers knotted through his. "Welcome back!" Her voice was soft, but strained.

Hardy opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came forth. His fingers tightened and clenched the woman's hand in a desperate attempt to communicate his confusion.

She seemed to understand his gesture. "Don't try to talk," she responded to him. "Your airway is obstructed and you stopped breathing for a bit! We couldn't get a tube down your throat in time, so we made an incision in your neck."

Hardy was suddenly aware of the tentative pressure against his throat. He was startled by the familiar creaking of the ropes above him. He suddenly realized he was still vertical and the three of them were dangling precariously in the elevator shaft!

"Do you understand?" Jessica continued, squeezing his hand. He hesitated before responding to her, attempting to comprehend what was happening to him. She measured her words more carefully. "We've made an incision in the center of your throat and inserted a tube. You can't speak right now, but you can breath."

He heard her softly gasp. She was reacting to pain.

"Great! You've probably dislocated your shoulder with that stunt!" The man's voice was directed at the young woman.

"You were the one who taught me to climb!"

"Yeah, CLIMB! UP! Not take a swan dive off the edge of a cliff!"

"Well, everybody else was doing it! Besides, if I hadn't, I would be pretty crispy by now!"

The man responded to her with a tense silence. Even in Hardy's exhausted stupor, he sensed the tension between the pair.

"My form... was lovely!" Jessica shifted in her harness, and Hardy heard a painful flinch in the midst of her words. "Maybe you should have taught me to fly!"

It was the man's hands that adjusted the tube in Hardy's throat. "You are fearless to the point of stupidity!"

He was rough with the gauze around the incision, probably attempting to place emphasis on his words. Hardy brought up his other hand and latched onto the man's arm. He tightened his grip with his failing strength, quickly reminding the man he was working with painfully delicate flesh and cartilage.

"Peter!" Jessica raised her voice, then she coughed. "Take it easy!"

"Oh! Didn't mean to hurt you, buddy!" Peter pressed and held the gauze loosely around the incision until Hardy heard the ripping sound of tape. He felt the sticky surface and the tentative pressure as the man pressed it in place on his neck.

"Jefferson, if you're having trouble breathing or any trouble at all, you let me know! Give me a hand signal or tap on the stretcher." Jessica tapped on an aluminum bar of the stretcher. The sound was faint, but it was sufficient. "I'm with you the entire way down!"

"Not with that shoulder!" The man shot back at her.

"I'm fine! And unless you want to wrestle me all the way down, I'm staying with my patient!"

Jessica was true to her words. The descent was dangerous and technical. Despite her own injuries, she stayed within Hardy's grasp. They stopped more than once to connect new lines or to make adjustments to the ropes. She assisted her partner with the stretcher, lifting it over debris or moving it with her good arm. Only then did she release his hand. Occasionally, she placed her fingers against his neck, carefully monitoring his pulse. Between her tasks, her hand always found its way back into his.

They gave him more medication to manage the pain of his shattered body during the awkward movements of the extraction. Hardy was finally overtaken by the exhaustion of his ordeal. He could no longer maintain his vigilance. He realized, he didn't need to. With the lingering comfort of Jessica's fingers intertwined with his, he sank, without resistance, into the deep, silent blackness.

* * *

Hardy awoke with a sudden jerk. "Easy does it," came a man's voice. "You're alright!" It was a different voice than before, an older voice. He felt the man's gloved fingers gently probed the skin around his eyes, but that wasn't what startled him.

There was another loud crash, like metal implements falling against a tiled floor. He realized it was the first crash which jolted him awake.

"What's going on out there?" The man asked someone near them.

"I think that civilian medic has a bone to pick with the dispatcher," a woman's voice replied.

A massive sound of several things hitting the tiled floor at once pulled the man's attention from Hardy. "Whoa! What was that?" Hardy heard the man move away from him.

"Everything on the dispatcher's desk hitting the floor," the woman replied, with the calm detachment of a casual observer. "Maybe we shouldn't have popped her shoulder back into place. She can really throw with that arm!"

"Wow! She's got 'em cornered!"

Jessica's voice was measured and controlled when she spoke to Hardy. Thus, it was difficult to distinguish the shouting in the distance as hers. Her voice was ragged and rough from smoke inhalation, but it didn't keep her angry shouts from cutting through the hum of the busy triage facility.

"Seriously? You didn't think I needed back-up? Who do you think you are?" Hardy heard most of the activity around him stray into silence, then the words of the heated verbal exchange could be clearly heard by all. "I don't care what you think about me, but you don't punish your own because I don't wear the uniform!"

"I don't take orders from you!" a man shouted. "You made a request, and I denied it!"

"Because you're an IDIOT!" Her last word was emphasized by the hard smack of something against the wall. "You have no idea what I was dealing with up there!" Another smack. "He's a pilot trainee! If he loses his sight, it will be a waste of a good soldier, and you know it!"

"You're not putting this on me! It was a matter of numbers..." the man shouted back at her and tried to continue, but Jessica cut him off.

"Yeah, I got that message! And it still sounds like a load of CRAP!" Another word was emphasized by a creative sound effect. This time, a resounding thud, then another crash as something shattered on the tile. "We both know what this is about, and it isn't numbers!"

"Oh!" the woman near Hardy exclaimed. "That's gonna' hurt!"

"You don't have to like me... you don't even have to respect me, but you do have to send me back-up when I ask for it! I am authorized, and I am entitled!"

"Military personnel take priority over civilian requests! You're not entitled to sh... Wait!" Something else hit the wall and this time, Hardy heard it shatter immediately.

"It's MY call! I'm in the field!" The volume of her voice changed as she moved. Hardy sensed she was pursuing the man around his office. "He's a senior cadet you moron! He IS military! You don't sit back here behind your computer, sipping on your coffee..." Another object shattered after a ferocious blow. 'Probably a coffee mug,' Hardy thought. "...making decisions like that!"

"Hey! Not the..." the man was interrupted by another smash. Hardy was wondering whether Jessica's shoulder would give out before she ran out of ammunition.

"Shouldn't somebody do something before someone get's hurt?" the man near Hardy asked.

"Are you kidding?" the woman replied. "This is the most fun I've had all day! She'll be fine!"

"It's not the girl I'm worried about!"

"Well, why don't you go break it up?"

"No way! I can't take the risk!" Hardy heard the man turn and approach his stretcher. "These hands are surgical instruments, and that little girl is scary!"

* * *

Remembering those words made Hardy smile. He would have given anything to see Jessica's petite figure wielding common objects like weapons against a larger adversary. Despite her feminine stature, she must have appeared ferocious in her rage. Hardy likened the vision to a Chihuahua on the rampage. Now, curled underneath a blanket on a couch, she was anything but scary.

"She saved my life," he said to Sandor as he adjusted the bag of ice against the side of his face. "I probably would have died waiting for someone to get to me. At the very least, I would have lost my sight. She shouldn't have been up there by herself, but she came anyway."

Sandor smiled and laughed softly. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door-frame behind him. "So, that's how the two of you met?"

Hardy paused and his smile broadened, but he winced with the pain of his swollen cheek. "Well... yes... and no..." He looked over at her as his words trailed off. Memories revealed themselves in brief sensations and fragile moments: the feel of her hand in his, the sound of her voice when she spoke his name, the movement of her body beneath his hands...

Her back was to them as she slept. The blanket rose and fell with each slow, deep inhalation. Her braided hair was loose, unkempt, and askew. Strands of it went every which way.

Wildstar, in the chair next to the couch, was more of a complement to the scene than a contrast. He looked almost as haggard and tired as the young woman. His hair was naturally unkempt. Thus, strands of it falling into his eyes were not unusual, but his uniform was pulled askew and stretched awkwardly as he attempted to find a comfortable position for snoozing upright. His fingers were knotted over his stomach. Over time, his head leaned awkwardly towards his shoulder. Hardy was thinking Wildstar would wake with a painful crick in his neck, and he was tempted to wake him, but Hardy suddenly realized Sandor was patiently waiting for him to continue.

* * *

Hardy excused himself from the table and politely bid his tipsy crew-mates good night. Conroy's eyes were on him as he pushed his chair to the table. "It's a little early, isn't it?" Hardy sensed Conroy's disappointment in his question. "The party's just started!"

"Have a drink for me." Hardy smiled as he placed a friendly hand on Conroy's shoulder. "Early day tomorrow."

Conroy didn't press him. Hardy knew his senior officer understood. All of them were dealing with the weight of what was to come. Conroy convinced him to take a break from mission preparation to attend the farewell banquet. However, Hardy's tolerance for crowds and social etiquette had its limits. Even with good food and entertainment, mission checklists dominated his thoughts.

He shook a few hands as he made his way to the main entrance of the great banquet hall. He politely declined requests to stay longer from other crew members, excusing himself with kind words.

A tangle of strange, uncoordinated notes rose from the orchestra as the musicians tuned their instruments. The lights began to dim. Hardy quickened his pace to the entrance, hoping to escape before the darkness obscured his path. Finally, he reached the staircase outside the Great Hall. He was relieved to be free from the crush of people behind him. The air was cooler outside.

He contemplated the long walk back to base as he moved toward the staircase leading down to the street. He took in a deep breath. The air was musty, stagnant, and damp; very common for the giant caverns housing the underground city. It made him miss the caress of a gentle breeze. Especially, when it swept through the sheltering branches of his Grandfather's pecan orchard. In the summer, it carried the scent of his Grandmother's magnolias.

He started down the steps, but something stopped him in mid-stride. He was overtaken by the gentle crescendo of a melody. The eerie sound of bagpipes drifted from the Great Hall, then echoed against the cavern walls in the distance. He listened carefully as the melody made its way over the constant hum of the crowd. It was soft, gentle, and strangely familiar.

A woman's voice followed, blending harmoniously with the music. The voice was very soft at first. It was only a shadow of the instruments, but it was pleasantly ethereal. The noise of the crowd subsided and a hushed silence swept over the audience, but the words of the song remained unclear.

Hardy moved back to the entrance, attempting to see over the crowd. His nagging curiosity finally drew him into the hall once more. He carefully skirted between members of the audience, moving his way toward the stage. It was awkward in the darkness, people were silent and still around him, but he pressed forward toward a single beam of light, cutting through the darkness.

_All the birds in the forest they bitterly weep_  
_Saying, "Where will we shelter or where will we sleep?"_  
_For the Oak and the Ash, they are all cutten down…_

The familiarity of the words heightened his curiosity and coaxed him forward with urgency. The familiarity of the voice sent a chill through him. The bitter, traumatic moments of his accident flooded his memory, and he suddenly felt a sense of desperation. That melody... the voice... they had been his lifeline, his only solace through his unyielding pain. 'Was it her...?'

_And the walls of bonny Portmore are all down to the ground. _

_O bonny Portmore, you shine where you stand_  
_And the more I think on you the more I think long... _

He found himself at the foot of the stage, staring up at the delicate figure of a young woman. She stood in the soft illumination of a single spot-light. Her hair was a cascade of golden curls. Her long, black dress was a dramatic contrast to her porcelain skin. It complemented her small frame with a refined elegance, and gracefully draped her body as she moved. The lines of her face were fair and delicate and... somehow... familiar.

Hardy suddenly caught his breath. The young woman from the tram? It had been so long. Yet, during the months of recovery and painful rehabilitation, her beautiful smile lingered with him, inspiring him. Especially, during the most difficult times.

Alone on the stage, she seemed surprisingly frail. Not at all what he expected in someone that could drag his broken body through fire and debris. Hardy found himself mesmerized. Her voice was in perfect pitch, skillfully intertwined with the tones from the orchestra. He stared in shocked silence, unable to believe the voice and the face belonged to the same person.

Her voice rose in strength with the melody. Everyone around her was suspended in an obedient silence. She closed her eyes and suddenly hit a high note, holding it with breathtaking intensity. She extended her arms before her. Her palms were turned up toward the sky as if she summoned her strength from above. Hardy's throat tightened and he wondered how something so strong could come from someone so small.

Her arms dropped gently to her sides as her voice faded. She bowed her head with the orchestra's attenuating music. There was a brief pause, a small moment of silence, then an eruption of applause. Hardy was standing in the shadows, among a sea of admirers, but somehow, when she opened her eyes, she was looking at him. She smiled at him, and in that moment, he knew it was her.

Something moved inside him. He couldn't look away from her. He couldn't breath. Even as the lights brightened in the Great Hall, exposing the sea of admiring faces, the connection endured between them. They were suspended in a moment of splendid intimacy.

She was suddenly aware of the admiring crowd around her. Her eyes broke from his, and whatever delicate thing seemed to be between them, shattered like glass.

Her smile faded. She acknowledged the applause with hesitant nods and waves before she made a graceful exit from the stage. Hardy was left in his stunned silence, wondering if the precious moment between them was real. He remembered her. In a strange way, he knew her. He was a witness to her undeniable strength. This girl from the tram... saved his life. 'Would she remember me?' he wondered.

Admirers surrounded her, as he slowly approached. He gathered his courage with each step. From a distance, he observed her graceful attentiveness to Captain Avatar. She grasped the old man's hand with both of hers, nodding and smiling in response to his words. When Captain Avatar left her, another admirer took his place. She smiled as she exchanged words and shook hands.

Hardy halted suddenly when the young woman was embraced by Conroy. 'Of course,' he thought, and he felt the sting of disappointment. 'Of course she would have someone... but does it have to be my squad leader?' He took a deep breath and made his way through her circle of admirers.

"Hardy!" Conroy beamed. "I thought you headed out! Did you catch Jessica's performance?" He placed his hand on her head and mussed her hair.

"Hey!" She quickly jabbed Conroy in the ribs with her elbow and he withdrew his attack. "You promised! The hair is off-limits tonight!"

"Oh, don't be such a diva!" He quipped and he winked at Hardy before he was drawn into another conversation. She poked him once more before she turned to Hardy.

"Ma'am," Hardy nodded at her, but that was the only word which came readily to him.

She extended her hand to him and smiled. They shook hands. He cleared his throat. "I wanted to thank you..." he began, still grasping her hand in his.

"I'm sorry?" She tilted her head in a subtle gesture of confusion. There was no recognition in her eyes, and Hardy realized the moment they shared was... just a moment.

He suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable in the uncomfortable silence. He tried to say something more, but his mouth went dry. Another admirer approached and diverted the young woman's attention. She gave his hand a final squeeze and released it.

Hardy stepped back, fading into the crowd. He retreated behind heavy curtains to the sanctuary of an empty balcony. Here, he could find space to catch his breath and rally his strength. His stomach turned. Her striking beauty took him by surprise. Her dramatic presence left him uncertain and off-balance.

His hands were steady and strong. He could fly his fighter through a narrow chasm without fear or race along the nap of the earth with frightening speed and precision. Yet, he couldn't find the words for this young woman.

* * *

To Be Continued

Chapter 9 – Serenity

_Peace flows into me_  
_As the tide to the pool by the shore;_  
_It is mine forevermore,_  
_It ebbs not back like the sea..._

Beta Reader: Sybil Rowan! Thanks again!

Date Written: October, 2010

Word Count: 3386


	9. Chapter 9 Serenity

__

_**Serenity**_

_Peace flows into me  
As the tide to the pool by the shore;  
It is mine forevermore,  
It ebbs not back like the sea._

_I am the pool of blue  
That worships the vivid sky;  
My hopes were heaven-high,  
They are all fulfilled in you._

_I am the pool of gold  
When sunset burns and dies—  
You are my deepening skies,  
Give me your stars to hold._

___~ Peace, by Sarah Teasdale_

* * *

"That wasn't fair!" Came a woman's voice from behind him. Hardy turned to see the young woman standing in the doorway of the balcony. One slender arm held the curtain aside. She was illuminated by the soft light from the Great Hall behind her. "You were a bloody, swollen mess the last time I saw you. I had to ask my brother who you were."

"Your brother?..." He whispered, more to himself than to her. "Conroy?"

The young woman took a step and teetered awkwardly. She caught her balance with a hand against the door frame and rolled her eyes.

"Excuse me," she said to Hardy as she leaned against the door. She bent until she could slip her finger beneath the strap of her high-heeled shoe. She pulled it off and straightened her back. Releasing a long sigh, she inspected the delicate, black shoe with a critical eye. "It's amazing. We can put a colony on Mars, but we have yet to engineer a sensible heel!" She tossed it to the side. Putting her hand against the door-frame again, she bit her lip and used her bare foot in an awkward attempt to pry the other heel away.

Hardy watched her struggle for a moment, then he came to her and knelt before her. "Ma'am?" He looked up at her as he held out his hand at her feet.

Jessica hesitated. She seemed uncertain of his gesture. She was young, and certainly unaccustomed to the conduct of chivalry. Hardy waited patiently. Finally, she lifted the silky fabric of the dress and placed her foot in his hand. He gently pulled her foot to him, allowing her shoe to rest on his leg. The folds of her dress fell away, revealing the muscular lines of her lower leg and the delicate structure of her ankle. He loosened the strap of the shoe and removed it with great care. He felt her eyes on him as he rose. Her shoe seemed very small and delicate in his hands. "Ma'am." He smiled as he presented it to her.

She stared at him, her lips graced with a slight smile, as if she didn't quite know what to say. She suddenly grabbed the shoe from his hand and tossed it over her shoulder. "I've been wanting to do that all night!" She started to laugh with a contagious giggle and Hardy laughed with her.

Her informal demeanor put him at ease. He turned and offered his arm to her. She placed one hand on his arm and lifted her long dress with the other so she could walk without stepping on the flowing fabric. He escorted her to the concrete railing of the balcony. They both leaned against it, staring quietly at the crumbling underground city before them.

"I tried to find you," Hardy finally spoke. She looked at him, but she was silent. "I asked all around that hospital, but nobody knew you. I thought... the name you gave me..."

"I gave you my real name," Jessica said, and Hardy met her eyes. "Everyone else knows me by my nickname. Someone started calling me Doc and it stuck. Fewer syllables than Jessica, I guess. Much easier to scream in an emergency."

"I wanted to thank you... for what you did..."

"You don't have to thank me for doing my job," Jessica spoke in almost a whisper.

He wondered if the skies of Earth had ever been as blue as her eyes. When she smiled... His words and his breath escaped him. He diverted his eyes before he stared at her too long. Instead, he studied his clasped hands on the railing. They tightened with anxiousness. He didn't know what to say to her. How many times had he rehearsed something in his mind? Yet, not a single phrase returned to save him. He didn't know how to begin.

"I asked about you many times." Her voice was soft and gentle. "I know you had a rough time of it." Jessica lifted her hand and brushed aside his hair, exposing his scars.

Instinct and self-consciousness would have had him withdraw from her. However, she had seen him broken. He wanted to be known by her. He wanted to be understood. He remained still as she touched his face with the delicate tips of her fingers, carefully tracing the remains of his burns. Hardy closed his eyes for a moment, completely at the mercy of her touch. "You've healed well... You shouldn't hide them..."

"I don't like answering questions about them. I don't like being reminded."

The young woman hesitated and pulled her hand away. "I'm sorry..." Hardy sensed trembling in her voice. "I'm sorry I couldn't save your friend."

Hardy stood straight and looked back at her, surprised by her words. "No, that's not what I meant! I..."

An awkward silence fell between them. The moment could have lasted for days, but there seemed to be no sense of time. She endured somehow, and she remained. Hardy was relieved. She seemed to find more solace in the uncertainty between them than in the act of escape.

He finally found the courage to speak. "They said you took a huge risk. They said..." He paused and swallowed again, attempting to relieve the nervous dryness in his throat. "They said you were very brave..."

"No!" She whispered as she shook her head. "I'm not brave! I'm not brave at all!" She didn't look at him. She kept her eyes fixed on the lights lining the streets below them. "I'm scared! I'm scared all of the time!" Pushing back from the railing, she looked down where the delicate fabric of the dress hid her toes. "I begged Peter to stay! I begged him!"

Hardy was silent. Words eluded him once more.

"It's crazy! You don't know what's out there! You don't know if its real! What if..." Her words trailed away.

Hardy reached for her, but he couldn't bring himself to touch her.

She finally turned to him. Her blue eyes burned. "I hate it! I hate that he wants to leave, more than he wants to stay! He should be be with his family!" She swept up a long, slender arm and pointed forcefully to the jagged ceiling of stone, which was now their sky. "He would rather die out there, than with us..." She stared at him in the fleeting silence, visibly trembling. Suddenly, she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand in a gesture of surprise. She seemed regretful and humiliated by her outburst.

A veil of political correctness surrounded the mission. Everyone was desperately clinging to whatever hope remained. So, no one said what they really thought... what they really feared...

Jessica revealed a terrifying truth in her words. The mission could be a last, desperate act of a dying civilization. It could be suicide. It could be hopeless...

"I'm so sorry!" She pulled her hand away from her mouth. Her eyes glistened. She was on the verge of tears. "I promised Peter... I shouldn't have... I'm so sorry!" Turning away from him, she started toward the door.

Hardy reached for her, gently grasping her arm. He sensed desperation in her, a desire to run, to escape. She tried to pull away. Her arm slipped through Hardy's hand until her hand brushed his. He closed his hand around hers and refused to release her.

"No..." She pulled against him, but the attempt was feeble, as if she had no strength to fight him.

"Stay..."

"No... "

He was stronger than her resistance. He pulled her to him, gathering her trembling body into the shielding comfort of his embrace. She was tense, but she didn't fight him. Moments later, he felt her tension drain away, like gently flowing water. She sank willingly into the solace of his arms.

She was warm against him. Her hair was silky against his face The dramatic plunge of her dress left her slender back bare beneath his hands. How many times had he thought of holding her this way? He couldn't remember.

"Don't let go..." Her whisper seemed frightened. He held her tighter.

They could have been there for hours. Hardy didn't know. For him, it wasn't long enough.

Music drifted from the Great Hall. Jessica raised her head and looked into Hardy's eyes. "Could we just stay here?" she whispered. "Could we forget about everything, for just a little while?"

_I don't know you_  
_But I want you_  
_All the more for that_  
_Words fall through me_  
_And always fool me..._

Hardy didn't reply. He didn't have the answers to questions like those. He offered her his open hand instead. "I don't know how to dance," he said softly, "but I can shuffle my feet."

_Take this sinking boat and point it home_  
_We've still got time_  
_Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice_  
_You've made it now..._

She smiled with an enduring grace, but she seemed to choke back tears with her words. "Shuffling sounds really good." She placed her hand in his, and for a moment, he marveled at how it fit so perfectly into his.

_Falling slowly, eyes that know me_  
_And I can't go back_  
_Moods that take me and erase me_  
_And I'm painted black..._

"Wait..." He took a step back from her and stepped on the back of his shoe, pulling it off. Jessica laughed gently as he removed the other as well. He pulled her to him. Her body found support against his. She laid her head against his chest once more.

_You have suffered enough_  
_And warred with yourself_  
_It's time that you won..._

They moved slowly. He rocked her gently with the music.

The city crumbled around them. The Earth still turned, but they were oblivious to it all. They were sheltered in the perfect calm of their embrace. For one fragile moment, life granted them peace.

* * *

His heart was pounding. She lifted her head from his chest and her eyes met his. They were so very blue, like the sky he loved. The sky he remembered when he was very young, before the bombings.

He took in the details of her, things he could remember; things he could take with him: the feel of her hand in his, the delicate lines of her face, the perfect orientation of her body against his and how the dramatic neckline of her dress framed the pale skin of her chest, which rose and fell with each breath... Her eyes seemed to study him with a curious wonder, as her head tilted, ever so slightly, on her long, graceful neck.

They stopped moving. Lacking fear or inhibition, they gazed at one another. The silence between them seemed natural, a delicate prelude to something more. He leaned toward her slowly, hesitantly; a silent gesture, requesting her permission. She didn't turn from him. Hardy closed his eyes and felt the soft warmth of her lips against his.

Jessica caught her breath, and he felt her move in his arms. He was so captivated by the moment, he didn't hear the sound of her name in the distance. He suddenly realized the chaotic hum of the crowd could no longer be heard. They must have been moving without music for quite some time. The glaring main lights of the Great Hall streamed through cracks in the curtains. The banquet was at an end.

Jessica pushed away from him. "I have to go!" She quickly gathered the length of her dress into her arms and padded away from him.

"Will you be at the send-off tomorrow?" Hardy asked. "We're marching through the city."

"No... I can't..." She paused and turned to him, but she couldn't seem to meet his eyes. She tried to say more, but the words seemed to catch in her throat.

Hardy felt the sting of disappointment. "It would be good to see you..."

"I've... I've already said my goodbyes... understand?"

"Yes," he nodded, hesitantly. She turned from him before her tears flowed, disappearing into the folds of the heavy curtains.

"Hey!" He heard Conroy's voice in the distance. "Where were you?"

"I needed some air." Jessica's voice was flat, lifeless.

"Are you alright?" Their voices began to fade with increasing distance. "Where are your shoes?"

* * *

The time soon came for Sandor to return to the Argo. It was his responsibility to supervise the delicate handling of the precious Cosmo DNA. He excused himself on the condition that Hardy would provide him with an update on Conroy. Hardy was left to the empty, silent halls of the medical facility.

He entered the room were Jessica slept. Her body twitched with the internal struggle of dreams. He sat on the couch, in the bend of her legs, and watched her for a long time. He was strangely content, simply to be by her side, to watch over her while she slept. He reached over and gently bushed her hair from her face.

Jessica's body jerked and her eyes opened. She looked up at Hardy. "Peter?"

"I'm so sorry to wake you." Hardy replied softly. "There's no word on him yet."

Jessica stared at him for a moment. She blinked, perhaps allowing her eyes to adjust in the dim light. After an instant of recognition, she suddenly sat up and threw her arms around him. She pulled him to her and held him as tight as her fleeting strength would allow.

It surprised Hardy, but he smiled and responded with an equally strong embrace. He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek into the long curve of her neck, lost in the captivating smell of her hair and the sultry warmth of her skin.

* * *

He knew she wouldn't be there. She told him so, but he looked for her anyway. Colored confetti fell like snow, obscuring the faces of spectators. People were everywhere, occupying every possible space along the route. Even if she was there, he wondered if he could actually find her in this mess.

Once more, it was her voice which drew him to her. He heard her calling his name. It was so faint at first, he wondered if he was hearing her at all. His eyes searched the crowd for her familiar face. He broke formation and stood in front of the crowd, searching with anticipation. Finally, he saw her, pushing her way through the tangle of people between them. Their eyes met. She smiled at him, with the smile he remembered, the smile he loved, and it made him catch his breath.

He started toward her. In the mass of people around them, she was all he could see. He wasn't sure what overcame him in that moment. These were not the actions of a gentleman, not one raised in the conservative traditions of the South. Maybe he wanted a memory to carry him through the next year. Maybe he felt he had nothing left to lose.

He moved with a confidence and purpose he had not felt in years. When they reached each other, he swept up her body his passionate embrace, lifting her from her feet. With his hand in her long hair, he pressed her lips to his and kissed her with breathtaking intensity.

At any other time, a public display of affection in uniform was a punishable offense. He didn't care. Neither did anyone else. Rows of uniformed soldiers marched by them. Some of them cheered Hardy on with hoots and hollers. The crowd immediately surrounding them broke out into applause. Jessica and Jefferson were oblivious to it all.

The kiss was long, deep, and slow. He allowed her body to slide slowly down his, joined with her in heated intimacy, until her feet finally touched the ground. She seemed breathless in her surprise. Hardy felt the soft rush of her breath against his lips. She faltered in the aftermath, but Hardy held her steady in his arms.

Finally, she opened her eyes and stared up at him. He looked into her eyes, as if he could see into the very depths of her soul. Maybe he could. Something deep inside him told him what to say. "Stay alive!" His voice resounded powerfully through the noise around them. "I'm com'n back! I'm com'n back for you!"

The words came with such confidence and certainty, Hardy even surprised himself. He suddenly realized, he genuinely believed them. He held her there, until an ember of hope burned in her eyes, until he was certain she believed his words too.

'There she is,' he thought. 'The woman who saved me. The survivor... The fighter...'

They lingered in the moment, staring at one another. She finally hooked her fingers into the neck of his uniform and slowly pulled him to her. She kissed him back.

* * *

To Be Continued

Chapter 10 – Courage, _Courage is the price that Life exacts for granting peace, __The soul that knows it not Knows no release from little things... — Amelia Earhart_

Author's Note: A love story for those dedicated fans of Star Blazers and Space Cruiser Yamato. May the legend, and all that it entails, continue to endure for another 30 years!

Disclaimer: Star Blazers is owned by Voyager Entertainment. Lyrics from Falling Slowly by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova

Beta Reader: Sybil Rowan! Thanks again!

Date Written: October, 2010

Word Count: 3015


	10. Chapter 10 Courage

**_Courage_**

_Courage is the price that Life exacts for granting peace, _

_The soul that knows it not Knows no release from little things... _

— _Amelia Earhart_

* * *

Jessica coughed softly and Hardly released her from his tight embrace. She felt the warmth of his hand on the side of her face, and she closed her eyes, leaning into it.

"Ah'm gonna' to get you someth'n to drink." His voice was soft and soothing.

He started to stand up, but she clung to his hand. "Don't go... not yet."

"Fahv minutes." He smiled as he stood up.

"Why does everyone keep trying to feed me?" she whispered to him.

" Fahv minutes," he repeated, holding up five fingers as he backed out the door.

Jessica pulled her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. The site of Wildstar's awkward sleeping position in a nearby chair made her smile, but her smile faded quickly. She remembered the task looming before her. Hardy was a pleasant distraction, but one she could not afford at the moment. With him, she had an excuse to neglect her obligations. Now, with Wildstar asleep, it was the perfect time. She had no choice.

She reluctantly pulled the blanket from her body and slowly stood on unsteady legs. Grasping her backpack, she slowly lifted it from the floor. All the while, carefully watching Wildstar for movement. He seemed to be sleeping soundly.

She started toward the door, but she stopped after a few steps and looked back at Wildstar. She couldn't help herself. Setting the backpack down, she crept back to the couch, retrieved the blanket, then gently placed it over him. She carefully backed away to the door and picked up her backpack. She cleared the hallway with a quick glance from left to right and slipped silently out of the room.

* * *

Wildstar felt the weight of the blanket as Jessica placed it over him, but he didn't stir. At least, not until Jessica left the room. He opened his eyes when he heard the fading sound of her footsteps in the hallway. Pulling the blanket away, he got to his feet. He reached the door just in time to see her disappear around a corner in the distance.

She was headed away from the surgical observation room. 'Peter is still in surgery...' he thought as he straightened his uniform and pushed his hair out of his eyes. 'Where is she going?'

* * *

Wildstar caught up with Jessica as she slipped through a side door of the medical facility. It led to a narrow street of the underground city. She stopped before the sidewalk. Kneeling with the backpack, she retrieved a baseball cap and light jacket from it. She tucked her braided hair into the cap and pulled it snugly over her head. Pulling on the jacket, she zipped it closed.

After she stood and slung the pack over her shoulder, she headed down the street in the direction of the military base. Cory was still under the watchful eyes of Conroy's squadron. She wasn't going that way to find him. Wildstar's curiosity overtook him, and he shadowed her.

* * *

It was early morning. Hours before sunrise on the surface. Yet, the streets of the city still hummed with activity and celebration. Energized by the return of the Argo and her crew, the city and its inhabitants refused to sleep.

Revelers in the streets motioned to Jessica, urging her to join them in drink and song. The purpose of her journey, and her brother's fragile circumstances, left her with no stomach for celebration. She was too deep in her thoughts to acknowledge them. It was one foot in front of the other. As she weaved a path through multitudes of people in the street, she kept only her memories for company.

She remembered walking the streets alone, not so long ago. Had it been years? More? She couldn't remember the timing, but she remembered how she felt.

It was a particularly dark day in her memory. She was alone, she was angry, and she was simply too tired to sleep. The city was dark and the streets were quiet and empty. The buildings around her seemed to stifle her more than usual.

Peter was in the final stages of his advanced flight training. He was awaiting his first combat assignment. The entire family was on edge.

Then, Cory, with his miraculous sense of timing, declared his intentions for his future to their father. He wanted to follow in the path of his older brother and apply to the academy. As Jessica silently predicted, a fierce argument ensued. Because there was no hiding from the volley of shouts and painful words flying about their small, crowded apartment, she left.

Even after many hours had passed, she still didn't want to go home. Instead, she walked the halls of the military hospital. The equipment was interesting and advanced and there was always someone around, willing to indulge her curiosity.

She inspected the new bandage on her forearm. The abrasions she suffered during her latest rescue were still painful. She was grateful another medic offered to clean it and re-wrap it for her. She didn't want to ask her father. He would only chastise her for being so foolish as to climb into the wreckage of another collapsed building. "There are too many ways to die in this world," he would say. "Stop trying to increase your odds!"

The underground cities were built very quickly to save the lives of those on the surface. Ironically, more lives might have been spared if the cities were constructed with less speed and more care. Structural collapses were fairly common now. The radioactive bombings on the surface only aggravated the problem, sending violent tremors through the earth for miles, undermining foundations and crumbling structures.

Jessica's technical skills as a climber were valued more than ever. Her skills as a medic were equally valuable. However, it was her petite stature that served as both a blessing and a curse. She could squeeze into small fissures in debris where others could not. Unfortunately, she was often the first to witness the tragic plight of victims and survivors alike.

She stopped giving into her emotions a long time ago. They simply got in her way. They slowed the process of rescue and eroded the confidence of the survivors.

She knew, every incident hardened her just a little. Each frightening experience chipped a small piece from her soul. She used to feel things... really feel them. Now, each passing day, she grew numb and angry... and it frightened her.

She walked slowly through a room, lined with hospital beds. Most of them were occupied by injured soldiers. She marveled at the modern equipment and the white, gossamer, privacy curtains draping from the high ceilings. Everything was shiny and clean.

Curiosity drew her to the bed of one soldier. Half of his face was hidden by bandages. She glanced at the electronic chart and whispered the name. "Jefferson Davis Hardy." She smiled.

He was intubated. Mechanical ventilation regulated his breathing. It was soft, rhythmic, and constant. She regarded him for a moment, then approached the side of his bed. His hand rested at his side. She touched it gently, carefully tracing along his fingers with her fingertips. She grasped it, remembering how it felt when his hand held hers.

He was in such pain. Yet, he was solid and strong in her presence. His calm kept her focused and kept her moving. She was silently grateful for his strength, and she wished she could feel it now.

With gentle resolve, she placed her hand over the bare skin of his chest. He was cool to the touch. His chest rose and fell with each steady breath. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind.

His heart was very strong. She felt its comforting rhythm against her hand. In the next moment, the sound pounded softly in her ears. When she listened more intently, she heard the rush of blood through his vessels, through the chambers of his heart. It flowed with such strength, with such undeniable purpose.

Air flowed into his lungs, adequately nourishing the blood and the tissues. Yet, the balance... the sound... the air didn't flow smoothly... there was roughness... damage. The inhalation of smoke and chemicals burned fragile membranes in the lungs, but the body was gaining strength and working to repair it. If she tried hard enough, she could almost...

Jessica was shaken from her concentration by footsteps. She heard the nurse return to the nurses' station at the end of the room. She quickly withdrew her hand and restored her focus to her immediate surroundings.

"Hey, Doc! How are ya'?" The nurse placed his hand-held computer on the desk and approached her. "We don't see you around here often!" He jerked his head at the patient. "One of yours?" Jessica responded with a nod. "You come by for a visit?" He noticed her bandaged arm before she could reply. "Ah, patched up again, huh? Girl, you and I are going to have to compare scars someday!"

"Not if it involves getting naked with you, Dave."

He grabbed his chest. "You're such a heart breaker!" He paused and acknowledged her smile with a wink. "Can I answer any questions for you?"

"No... I was just..." Her words trailed off. She didn't know what she was doing.

Dave dismissed her hesitation and continued. "He's doing very well! He came through surgery like a champ! He's in what we call a drug-induced coma right now. You know about that, right? It shuts down electrical activity in the brain and the body diverts the energy to healing. It also discourages cerebral edema. That explains the ventilator. The more we can reduce the work-load for the brain and the body, the better." Dave glanced at her. She was staring at the young man covered in bandages and tubes, but she diverted her eyes when she felt Dave's eyes on her.

"You okay?" Dave waited for a response, but Jessica could only manage a nod. "They say people in coma's can hear things going on around them." Dave glanced around and found a rolling chair nearby. He retrieved it and rolled it to Hardy's bedside. "His grandmother comes each day during visiting hours. Take a seat!"

Jessica shook her head. "I... don't..."

"C'mon! Talk to him a little. You look beat!" He pointed at the chair. "Enjoy it! Just think, you'll finally have a man that listens to you!"

Jessica smiled and sat down. Dave rolled her close to the bedside until she pressed her hands against the bed to stop the movement. He walk away backwards, smiling at her. "I promise, anything you say is just between you and him and me... and the next shift! Do you want some coffee?"

"So I can be as wired as you? No thanks!" She watched Dave return to his chair at the nurses' station. He turned his back to her and started tapping away at the computer terminal.

She released a deep sigh and leaned on Hardy's bed. "So, Jefferson Hardy... what shall we talk about?" She spoke softly, whispering her words so as not to disturb the other patients around them. "You said you liked the sound of my voice. Let's hope you haven't changed your mind." She placed her hand over his, gently knotting her fingers through his.

She was silent for a long while, contemplating what to say. Her thoughts drifted back to her family and the bonds they shared. Slowly, painfully, they decayed a little more each day. She lifted Jefferson's hand and grasped it within both of hers. She was physically exhausted, but it was the emotional fatigue which took its toll. Bowing her head, she pressed her forehead against the intertwined mesh of their fingers. She hid the tears welling in her eyes.

"I miss my mother... I miss her so much..." Her voice trembled as she whispered. "If she were here... my family wouldn't be falling apart. She would know what to say... to keep them together." She closed her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek. Rather than brushing it away, it felt good to let it flow down her face and fall upon the sheets.

"There's an old observation balcony above the government building. It's the highest place in the city. It's not really safe anymore, but I go there sometimes... because it's the closest I can get to heaven without going to the surface..." Jessica hesitated and swallowed hard. "You would probably think this is foolish, but I try to talk to her up there. I've done that since I was a child..."

She hesitated, gathering her thoughts; drawing upon her memories. "I remember when I was five. We still lived in Castlerock." She lifted her head, still holding his hand within hers. "Our mother passed that year. My brother, Peter, was determined to find a way to talk to her. He wanted her to come home. He drug me up some high, rocky outcrop in the Garden of the Gods because he wanted to get closer to heaven. He thought she might be able to hear us up there.

"Dad would have killed us if he knew, but Peter was my big brother. I would have followed him anywhere." Jessica caught herself smiling. "There was a storm moving in that day. It was a cool front. The clouds were dark, and they were moving very fast. I could see lightening in the distance. Thunder echoed around us. I remember putting my hand against the stone. I could feel the vibration. I still remember the smell of the electricity in the air. It was terrifying to me, but Peter wanted to keep climbing. So, I watched him climb as high as he could get.

"It seems crazy, now that I think about it... Peter could have been killed if he fell. He could have been struck by lightening, but he never seemed afraid. He just kept climbing until he reached the peak.

"The wind picked up. There was this... sudden rush of air. I remember it so well because it was suddenly cold! It rushed over me, almost through me. I looked up at him, and he was standing up, his head thrown back, his arms outstretched, welcoming that storm like it was his best friend.

"I thought the wind would have blown him right off that outcrop, but he stood his ground in its wake. He stood straight and tall, like he was part of the stone. Then, he moved his arms in the wind, like he was a gliding bird.

"I wanted to call out to him. I wanted to tell him to come down, but I didn't. I just watched him...

"What kind of seven year old isn't afraid of lightning?..." She looked at Jefferson's face, almost as if she expected him to answer her.

"I always think of him in that way. Facing down that storm without fear." She rested her cheek against their clasped hands. "It makes me afraid for him... The more my father wants to keep him here, the more he struggles to break free. My father doesn't see it, but Peter is a stranger to the ground... He doesn't belong here..."

* * *

Security was at a minimum in the underground hanger, which sheltered the Argo. Sandor's endeavor to unload and position the alien hardware for a rapid evaluation fascinated and engrossed most of the staff. Wildstar observed from a distance as Jessica gained access to the hanger with her brother's security clearance. She must have obtained it from his body during his rescue. He hoped she was only going to retrieve her brother's belongings in the barracks. Such an offense might be forgivable under the circumstances. However, it would have been more appropriate, and more respectful, to request an escort.

Most of the power to the ship was shut down for safety. The corridors were quiet and dimly lit. He followed her, carefully staying in the shadows, keeping his footsteps just beyond her earshot.

Jessica accessed a monitor near the elevators and retrieved the Argo's directional schematic. The pale blue light from the monitor illuminated her face as she studied the map. She traced over the screen with a finger and moved her lips as she read. She removed a hand-held device from her backpack and manipulated the touch-sensitive screen.

Wildstar was surprised to hear the sound of doors sliding open in the distance. He even heard the sound of an elevator as it stopped at their floor. She knew how to manipulate the on-board computer. After clearing the monitor, she walked passed the elevators and continued down the passageway. The barracks were on a higher level. 'Where is she going?' he thought.

He was confused when Jessica entered the infirmary. He watched her silently, from the hallway. She placed her hand upon a nearby wall. Her touch was gentle, almost tender, as if her fingers stroked the face of a frightened child. She whispered something. Wildstar wasn't certain, but he thought he heard her apologize.

Things became somewhat clearer as he witnessed the liberation of a fire extinguisher from its cradle in the wall. She turned, lifted the heavy object over her head, and plowed it firmly into the safety glass of a secured medicine cabinet. Wildstar was horrified. He wanted to lunge forward and scream at her to stop, but he bit his tongue, enduring the torturous sound of repeated, damaging blows.

The safety glass failed to yield, so she swung the fire extinguisher again. The wrath of frustration fueled her swing. This time, it hit the safety glass with one loud smack and webs of hairline cracks sprawled slowly through the frame. She used the base of the fire extinguisher to chip through the compromised glass. Pulling the sleeve of her jacket over her hand, she punched away more of the jagged pieces. She grasped at something inside the cabinet and pulled it free.

Vials and ampules spilled onto the floor, mingling with the shattered glass. She cursed under her breath and knelt to retrieve them. Sliding the backpack closer, she dropped handfuls of labeled bottles into the bag.

Wildstar was done. The Argo had been through enough... He finally understood why she was here. He stepped into the room, but all he could utter was, "What the hell..."

Jessica gasped. On her hands and knees in the midst of broken safety glass and scattered medicine vials, her eyes were fixed on his shoes. She slowly looked up at him, as if she couldn't believe he was standing before her. Shocked and visibly frightened, she scrambled for her backpack. After an awkward tangle, she pulled a weapon free from it. Before Wildstar could say anything more, she was on her feet, juggling the weapon until she finally had the dangerous end pointed at him.

"Jessica…" He crossed his arms, calmly observing the unsteady grip she had on the weapon. The gun was standard, military issue. It trembled in her hands.

"Derek…" Jessica whispered, breathless in her surprise. "You're following me?"

"Yes!"

"Why?" Her reply seemed fearful and desperate.

"I think I should be asking the questions here," he said softly, then he suddenly shouted at her. "Why the hell are you on my ship without authorization?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but her words were caught, strangled by her loss for words.

"Jessica?" he shouted again and took a step forward. "Answer me!"

"Stop!" Her eyes widened. She stiffened her arms and pointed the muzzle at him with force.

He hesitated, suddenly remembering there was a gun between them. He took in a breath, releasing it slowly to quell his anger. He could hear her trembling as she breathed. A display of his anger wouldn't separate her from the weapon. It was time for a different approach.

Wildstar lowered his voice and spoke his next words with calm indignation. "Are you really going to shoot me with that thing?" He raised his hands, indicating his submission to the situation. When she didn't reply to his question, he eased forward a step, hoping his movements would distract her.

Jessica stepped back and pleaded with him, "Please… stop! I don't want to hurt you!"

"I know," he said calmly, inching forward again. "If you wanted to hurt me, you would've turned on that gun."

Jessica caught her breath. It wasn't difficult to surmise, she didn't have training on the weapon. Her unsteady, novice's grip gave it away. The fear in her eyes confirmed it.

Her eyes traced over the weapon in her hands. Wildstar knew she was carefully considering what to do next. He hoped she had some desire to set it aside and explain things to him. Wildstar moved toward her again and her eyes met his. He reached out his hand, offering to take the gun from her.

She began to lower the weapon, but she suddenly tossed it at him. Wildstar's eyes followed it as it went airborne. Jessica grabbed her pack and bolted for the door. The gun bounced twice in Wildstar's hands before he got a firm grip on it. He only caught a glimpse of Jessica's foot as she disappeared through the doorway.

Wildstar ran to the door and looked both ways. He couldn't see her, but he heard the fading sound of her footsteps. He launched toward the echo. It didn't take long for him to catch up with her. He was the stronger runner. He approached her in time to see her manipulate a lock on a pressure-sealed door with surprising ease. It hissed and opened only partially, just enough for her tiny frame to squeeze through the narrow opening. She reached back through the opening and snatched her backpack, pulling hard to force its bulk through the opening.

Wildstar reached for the backpack and nearly snatched a handful of dangling leather straps, but Jessica pulled it free, with only a moments to spare. She donned the pack and started running again, briefly glancing over her shoulder in time to catch Wildstar wedged between the doors. He struggled to squeeze through the opening sideways, pushing at the door wedged in his chest. His body finally made it through, but the doors snapped closed on his ankle. He fell hard and it fueled his anger. He growled as he twisted his leg and pulled himself free. Finally, he jumped to his feet again and ran.

Moments later, he caught up to her again, only to see her come to an abrupt stop. She bent forwards, then swayed backwards, arms outstretched and violently circling backwards, as if she was balancing precariously on a tightrope. She caught her footing, then turned abruptly to face him.

Light streamed into the dark corridor from behind her. He realized, it was the familiar lighting from the hanger. Most of the passage was destroyed with the bowels of the Argo in their final battle. There was nothing behind her but several hundred feet of stale air and the floor of the hanger.

Wildstar took a moment to catch his breath and assess the situation. She stood at the very edge of the jagged opening and he saw her glance over her shoulder. He put up his hands in an attempt to soothe her. "Take... it easy!" He spoke softly between breaths.

"You shouldn't have followed me!" Jessica shouted at him. "Leave me alone!"

"I can't!" Wildstar shouted back at her.

"Why? You don't know me!"

"I made a promise!"

"I don't need your he...!"

"Peter!" Wildstar cut her off. "I made a promise to Peter!"

Jessica hesitated. The pain she seemed to feel for her brother briefly crossed her face when she heard his name. Only briefly. She bowed her head slightly, glaring at him. The tiny movement allowed a narrow shaft of light to illuminate the rage in her eyes. "If he wanted to protect me… he should have stayed…"

"Maybe..." Wildstar paused, taking a moment to calm himself and reassess his strategy. Disagreeing with her would only provoke a reaction, but maybe her reaction would keep her talking. "You're wrong... I do know you..." He took a step towards her, but stopped when she inched backwards. "I know how your mother died and how hard it was for you... I know about the arguments between Peter and his father, and how you tried to hold the family together..."

"Stop it!" She shouted again. "That little girl Peter knew before he left... she's dead… I'm what's left…"

"Jessica, it doesn't matter." Wildstar's voice was soft, but firm. He extended his hand to her. "Come away from the edge."

"No..." She slowly shook her head. The movement seemed ominous in the pale shaft of light.

"Then talk to me!" He didn't know whether to be amazed or terrified. She stood there, confronting him with defiance, seemingly more comfortable in her precarious position than within his reach. 'If I can just keep her talking,' he thought, 'keep her distracted!' Wildstar glanced at her feet. Her heels were near the edge. He feared the integrity of the compromised floor would fail beneath her weight. "You're not going anywhere. Let me help you..."

She raised her hand and defiantly pointed at Wildstar. "I have two brothers already! I don't need another one! Especially one with rank!"

"That's fine! Just come away from the edge, Jessica!" He moved forward slowly, his hand still extended. He gestured with it, urging her to take it. "Help me to understand…"

She moved back slightly. "You don't want to go down this road, Derek..."

Moments of silence passed. He was losing his patience with this stand-off. In Wildstar's mind, Jessica's stubbornness inspired the impression of a obstinate child. His soul was battle-weary and somewhat numb. However, the young woman's proximity to a deadly fall was fraying what remained of his nerves. Before he could catch himself, he shouted at her. "Come away from the edge, Jessica!"

Jessica's body jerked in surprise. She seemed momentarily taken aback by his firmness, but the fury in her eyes quickly returned. "My father is dead!" She shouted back at him and her words echoed into the cavernous hanger behind her. "I don't need another one of those either!" She shook her head again. "I'm done with talking!" She emphasized her words with the angry motion of her hands. "I'm done with asking! I'm done with begging!" The movement shook the platform beneath her feet and it creaked with the strain. "I've tried that! All I get are excuses and hours wasted in deliberation!"

"Maybe I can help you! People respect you! If you will just tell me..."

She cut him off and stepped toward him, but only a few inches from the edge. "I had to beg, borrow, and steal for every ounce of that respect! I've done everything… everything… short of selling myself…" Her voice caught in her throat and she looked away as she swallowed hard. The anger on her face softened, as if a painful memory seemed to overtake her. "And I've come pretty close to that!"

Wildstar nodded in response to her words, trying to appear attentive. At the same time, he evaluated the probability of successfully grabbing her away from the edge. He was so very close now. "I can't understand if you don't talk to me!"

After a moment of heavy silence, she lowered her eyes and shook her head. Her voice trembled when she spoke. "You don't want to know me."

"Jessica..." He took a step toward her, reaching for her.

She seemed to shrink away from him. Her body leaned backwards. He stared into her eyes as she fell away from him. His fingertips brushed her clothing, ever so slightly. When he failed to grasp her, he caught his breath.

He couldn't remember exactly what happened in that moment. Did he crowd her too soon? Did she slip? What lingered with him later was that he didn't see fear in her eyes. He didn't see fear, anger, or determination. He saw nothing. Nothing is what frightened him the most.

"Jessica!" he screamed as he frantically stepped to the edge. He collapsed to his knees, desperately hoping to find her clinging to something, but terrified he would find her sprawled and broken on the hanger floor.

Only a tangle of cables and twisted metal draped from the jagged opening of the corridor, framing the empty floor of the hanger. Like the shadow of an elusive stranger... like the fleeting form a ghost... she was gone.

* * *

Wildstar was anxious as he watched Nova inspect the damage to the storage units. "I'm sorry to interrupt your time with your family, Nova! I didn't know who else to call!"

She moved slowly, carefully balancing as she stepped over broken bits of safety glass on the floor. "It's alright, Derek. This is important! I'm glad you didn't call security." She reached down and retrieved a vial from the floor. Her expression was one of deep concentration as she read the label, so Wildstar remained silent. "She knew what she was looking for." Nova forced open the bent and shattered cabinet door. "She took anything that might have some intrinsic value."

"Why would she come here?" Wildstar asked. "She's in and out of hospitals and medevacs all the time! She's had every opportunity to take things from those!"

"Most likely, she has..." Nova replied thoughtfully, "but in smaller amounts. Hospital and medevac inventory is carefully monitored. She can request medication, but only in quantities which match the procedure. She could probably get an extra vial or two, but nothing like this. It makes sense. We haven't reported what we used during the mission, so it's difficult to trace. The fact that she knew that, is a little disturbing."

"What could she be doing with it?"

"I'm not sure... she's a civilian medic... She didn't go through the standardized military medical training. I have no idea what she knows. Perhaps she's selling it. She's taken anesthetics and analgesics primarily. I see some antibiotics missing..."

"She would have taken those too, but I interrupted her..."

Nova whispered her next word. "C-Corps..."

Wildstar overheard her. "The Civilian Medical Corps? You think they're for real?"

"I know they're for real." Nova glanced at him. "I've probably worked with some of them."

"What do you know about them?"

"There's a great deal of talent there. They sometimes supplement our rescue operations, but they lack our sophisticated equipment. They refuse support from the military. Their focus is on the civilian population." Nova sighed thoughtfully. "There are conflicting interests... between the military and the Corps... The Corps want autonomy and the military wants control over their talent." Nova touched her chin with the fist grasping the vial. Wildstar watched her eyes carefully trace the empty spaces of the cabinet. "Conroy's father is a surgeon..."

"Conroy's father is dead," Wildstar replied flatly.

"I see..." Nova hesitated, while taking in the details of the damage. "Most of these drugs can be lethal in the right dosage..." she said thoughtfully. "Derek," Nova paused, as if gathering her thoughts to make a delicate request, "did she seem particularly unbalanced to you?"

Wildstar sighed in frustration as he pushed his hand through his unruly hair. "She took a dive out of a blast hole in the side of the Argo! I'd say she's certifiable!"

Nova's focus returned to him. He knew he couldn't hide his rising anxiety from her. She seemed to sense it without effort. Carefully navigating the debris in her path, she approached him slowly. With her familiar, soothing grace, she gently touched his arm.

"Peter asked me to..." Wildstar shook his head. Devastating possibilities were racing through his mind. His voice trembled as he spoke. "He trusts me... What am I going to tell him?" He met Nova's eyes. They looked upon him with compassion.

"We'll find her, Derek!" She pulled him close and embraced him. "We'll find her..."

* * *

To Be Continued

Chapter 11 – Guardian

Disclaimer: Star Blazers is owned by Voyager Entertainment.

Beta Reader: Thanks again to Ms. Sybil Rowan!

Date Written: December, 2010

Word Count: 5354


	11. Chapter 11 Fragile

_**Fragile**_

_Hallelujah_

_Every breath is a second chance..._

_~Always by Switchfoot_

* * *

_Peter Conroy clings to life in the care of physicians on Earth. As the Argo sits in dry-dock, following her mission to Iscandar, Wildstar discovers Jessica Conroy stealing meds from the on-board infirmary. A chase ensues. In the last moment Wildstar encounters Peter's sister, she's falling away from him, through a jagged opening in the battle-damaged hull of the Argo. However, instead of finding her body broken on the hanger floor, there's no body at all..._

* * *

Hardy entered the hospital cafeteria. Cory was sitting in a chair with his arms crossed and his jaw clenched. Lance, another Black Tiger pilot, was the only one left watching him.

"Has he cooled down at all?" Hardy asked Lance as he went to the empty kitchen with a box in hand.

"No, Sir! I think he still has some fight in him yet!" He patted Cory on the head, but Cory suddenly smacked the pilot's hand away. He shot Lance his best glare of warning. Lance laughed out loud. "I still think we oughta' teach this one to respect his elders!"

Hardy smiled. "Maybe later! I've got someth'n better!"

Lanced watched over his shoulder as Hardy removed a pie from the box. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Oh, yeah!" Hardy rubbed his hands together with a smile.

"From your Grandmother?" Lance stood up and gave Hardy his full attention. "Oh, man! You've been talking about that ever since we left Earth!"

"If ya' have some, you'll know why!"

"Big slice!" Lance prodded with a grin.

Hardy turned and drew some plates from a nearby shelf. Hardy felt Cory's eyes on him. He could almost smell the hole the young Cadet was burning into his back as he portioned out slices of pie onto the plates.

He turned and smiled as he handed a plate to Lance. "Hey, I've got some business with the young'un over there. Do ya' mind?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, ah'll be fine! Ah' don't have mah' arms full ah' female this time!"

Lance thanked Hardy for the pie and left the two alone.

Hardy picked up the two remaining plates and some forks. "Cadet, do yah' believe yah' sister should be happy?"

Cory's intense glare didn't waiver as Hardy moved toward the table with one plate in his hand and another balancing in the crook of his arm. "Of course I do!"

"Well, so do ah'. Ah' would like to make her happy, if she will have me."

The words seemed to slightly disarm the young man. Cory's glare softened.

"Ah' can't do that if you and ah' are try'n to kill each other."

"She doesn't need a fighter jock!" Cory snapped. "How do you plan to make her happy if you're gone for six months or a year? My Dad didn't want that life for her! She needs someone who's around, someone that will take care of her!"

"Ah' think you underestimate your sister. She takes care of herself. From what ah' understand, she looked after you and Peter after your mother died."

Cory was silent. He looked away and leveled his furious glare at some obscure spot on a nearby wall.

"Ah' am very sorry for handlin' our reunion the way ah' did. Mah' intentions toward your sister are honorable..."

"Honorable?" Cory shot back. "You don't know her, or what she needs to be happy!"

"Then help me to understand what she needs."

"You want advice? From me? You want me to tell you how to get into my sister's pants?"

"You go too fah', Boy! Don't speak of her in that way!"

"Don't call me 'boy'!"

"Ah' call ya' anything ah' damn well please as long as ya' wear'n tha' uniform." A long silence passed between them. They stared at each other with their best bristling glares. Hardy finally used his fingertip to push a plate toward Cory. "Eat. That's an order!"

"I'm not hungry!"

Hardy rolled his one visible eye. "Oh, ah've heard that before! Half that pent-up anger is hunger you didn't know ya' had."

Cory glanced at the slice of pie before him. He eyed Hardy with suspicion.

"Really? Ya' think ah' done someth'n evil to your pie?" Hardy took the fork from his own plate and stabbed the slice he pushed to Cory. He scooped up a piece and shoved it in his own mouth. "Mmmmmmmm, good stuff!"

Cory glared at him again, still smoldering. Finally, Cory sat up straight in his chair. He leaned over the table and pulled Hardy's plate to him. He picked up his fork and stabbed the dessert with intention. Obviously, trying to prove he wasn't afraid of it. All the while, they continued to glare at each other, anger still smoldering, but slowly dissipating, like smoke from a pipe.

Cory shoved the fork in his mouth. His expression softened slightly into, what Hardy surmised, was surprise.

"Don't like it?" Hardy asked as he reached for the plate. "Ah' can eat it."

Cory grabbed the plate from the table and held it far out of Hardy's reach. He propped his feet on the chair next to his and resumed a reclined position.

"That's more like it!" Hardy smiled, then he thought, _'Grandmother's sweet potato pie could slice through angry resolve, like a hot knife through butter.'_

* * *

Cory suddenly jumped to his feet and stood at attention when Wildstar and Nova entered the room. "Is she here?" Wildstar directed his question to Hardy.

"Suh?" Hardy responded with a look of genuine confusion.

"Jessica. Did she come back here?"

"Ah' thought she was with you!" Hardy replied, then he glanced questioningly at Nova, but she was silent. "Ah' went to get her someth'n to drink. When ah' came back, both ah' you were gone. I thought yah' finally got her to eat someth'n."

"Are you being truthful with me?" Wildstar's words tumbled fervently from an emotional heap of fear and rage.

"Derek!" Nova whispered. He knew she was chastising him for the implied accusation.

Hardy's body stiffened and the tone of his voice changed. "Ah'm sorry?"

"I asked you a question..."

"Ah' heard it..." Hardy shot back, visibly making an effort to control his voice, but his Southern drawl always thickened in the midst of angry words. "Yah' ah'ready know tha' ansah' to that."

Wildstar turned to Cory. The young Cadet was still, with his eyes directed forward. "Cadet Conroy?"

"Sir?"

"Do you know where your sister is?"

"Jessica, Sir?"

"Do you have another sister?"

"No, Sir! Just the one!"

"Where is she?"

"Sir, we thought she was with you!"

"If you know something, Cadet, tell me now! While I am in a forgiving mood!"

"Sir! Can you tell me what I'm supposed to know, Sir?"

"If Jessica was in trouble, Cadet, where would she go?"

Cory hesitated. "Jessica's in trouble?"

"I'm asking the questions here!"

"I... I don't have any idea."

"Think, Cadet!"

"We only see each other when I make it home on leave! Maybe if you told me what this is about..."

"If I find out you're lying to me..." Wildstar felt Nova's hand on his arm. It was her silent plea to stay his anger. "I can get you scrubbed from the Academy! Do you understand?"

"Sir, honestly, I would tell you if I knew but..."

With Nova's intervention, Wildstar realized, in the heat of the moment, his emotions ruled his words. Blindly lashing out at those around him wasn't helping the situation. The bitter feeling of helplessness was unrelenting. It prodded at what remained of his patience. He suddenly turned on his heel and brushed passed Nova as he left the room.

Hardy trailed him out the door. Cory was right behind him. "Wildstah! What's go'n on? Wildstah!"

"Hardy, I've got to know!" Wildstar turned to face him. "Would you protect her, if she were in trouble?"

Hardy released an exasperated sigh. "Ah' would defend her honor from false accusations, just as 'ah would for Miss Nova!" Wildstar wasn't satisfied with his response. He started to turn away from him, but Hardy continued. "Ah'right... let's back-off the accusations for ah' minute until we understand what's got yer' skivvies in a knot! Mah' Grandmotha' says yah' can't walk 'round like that! Yah' get a rash!" He hesitated. Wildstar guessed he was debating whether to answer a question with another question. He was right. "Protect her from whut?"

Wildstar's anger burst forth in rapid-fire words. "She breached security at the Argo's LZ! She boarded the Argo without assistance or authorization. _That_, in and of itself, should be enough for a one-way ticket to the brig, but she didn't stop there! She damaged military property and stole medical supplies!"

"That can't be!" Cory shouted from the doorway.

Hardy's jaw dropped. "Whah'?"

"How much do you know about her, Hardy?"

"Ah' know she's Peter's sister! Ah' know she saved mah' life! That makes her good people in mah' book."

"She broke into the infirmary on the Argo, Hardy! She took medications and supplies rated for use by only authorized medical personnel! In my book, that makes her a thief!"

Hardy slowly shook his head. "No..." His voice was soft when he spoke, as if he was trying to wrap his head around the idea. "Ah' don't believe you!"

"She wouldn't do that!" Cory shouted and started toward the two men, but Nova touched him on the arm. He looked back her.

"Please, Cory," she said softly. "Some of the drugs she took can be very dangerous!"

"She didn't do this!" He shouted at her, completely forgetting his rank. He turned and approached Wildstar and Hardy, until he was face to face with Wildstar. "You're wrong!"

"What makes you so sure, Cadet?" Wildstar snapped, and Cory stared at him as if the question seemed absurd.

"She's my sister..." he replied softly. "I've known her my whole life! She has never harmed another living thing!"

"I _saw_ her! With my own eyes, Cadet!" Wildstar shouted back at Cory, but the young man stood his ground. "Then she jumped out of a blast-hole in the side of the Argo and disappeared! Did you teach her that little trick?"

Cory's eyes widened, but Wildstar couldn't discern between shock or anger. Then Cory asked, "Was she running from you?" Wildstar hesitated, carefully considering how he would answer. Cory bristled at the silence, and Wildstar could see him clench his jaw, just like his older brother did when he was angry. "Did you corner her?" Cory spoke his next words slowly. His tone was menacing. "Was she trying to get away from you?"

Wildstar's insides went cold and numb. His fury exploded in the tone of his words. "I was chasing her because she ran! Think about it, Cadet! Why would she run, if she wasn't guilty?"

Cory's eyes flared and, in true Cory fashion, he reacted without thought. "You son of a..." He raised his fist to Wildstar, but Hardy intervened, pushing him off balance, and shoving him hard against the wall. Cory tried to come off the wall again, but Hardy pushed him back.

"Cory! Enough! Ah' can't always sight Wildstah for good judgment, but 'ah know he wouldn't harm her!" Hardy looked at Wildstar while holding Cory in place with a firm hand. "We got two choices here. We can hash this out with fists, or we can cooperate and start look'n for her! What's it gonna' be?"

"What's going on here?" The words drew everyone's attention towards the short, stocky figure at the end of the hallway.

"Doctor Sane!" Hardy released Cory.

"You better not be spoiling for a fight! Doctor Randal and I don't need any more work today!"

"My brother!" Cory shouted. "How is he?"

Doctor Sane held up his hand, attempting to calm the young Cadet. "He's doing well! He's very strong!" The Doctor was still removing bits of his surgical attire as he spoke. "I gave your sister a briefing in ICU about an hour ago." He removed his colorful scrub cap, dotted with kitten faces, and blotted the sweat from his bald head. "She's sitting with him..."

"Jessica?" Hardy asked.

Doctor Sane looked surprised. "Is there another sister I should know about?"

No one answered him. In fact, he was nearly trampled as all three young men rushed passed him. He spun around with the momentum of their wake and shouted after them. "Hey! That's the Intensive Care Unit! Immediate family only!"

Cory arrived at the right room before the others. He halted at the door frame, only to cushion the impact of Hardy and Wildstar as they slid to a stop on the linoleum. No one moved for a long moment. Finally, all three of them released a collective sigh of relief.

Jessica was asleep. Seated in a chair next to her brother's bed, her head rested at Peter's side. Her hand was over his. She looked truly fragile, as if she would shatter if touched, but she was alive.

Wildstar bowed his head, closed his eyes, and pushed his hand through his hair as he sighed. He was angry and weary, but those emotions were overwhelmed by a strange sense of relief. Exhaustion followed. When he opened his eyes, he met Cory's angry glare.

"Sir, with all due respect, you've done enough!" Cory's whisper was harsh. "I think you should go!"

Rather than confronting the youngest Conroy with rank or charging into the room and demanding an explanation from Jessica, he yielded to Nova's insistent and gentle hands. She guided him from the doorway.

They started to walk away, just as Doctor Sane rushed passed them. "Alright, everyone! That's enough!" Doctor Sane placed a hand on Cory's arm. "Come with me. Doctor Randal and I will brief you on your brother's condition."

As Cory was pulled away by the Doctor, Wildstar stopped in his tracks. He looked back at the doorway.

"It's her brother, Derek," Nova whispered to him. "She's not going anywhere."

Wildstar pulled away from Nova and walked passed Hardy. Hardy reached out to grasp him by the arm, but Wildstar jerked free of him and entered the room. He took a folded blanket from an open shelf on the wall. It fell open to its full length in his hands as he approached the sleeping young woman. Carefully, gently, he placed it over her shoulders with the same care and concern as she had once shown him.

Jessica gasped as she opened her eyes and lifted her head. Her face was expressionless. Yet, her eyes found his. They questioned him without words. Soft, rhythmic sounds marked the pace of Peter's vitals in the background as they stared at one another.

The eternal struggle: whether to care deeply for someone again and risk the agony of loss, as Wildstar had with his brother, his parents, and with Nova. Or, should he reinforce the porous walls surrounding his heart. The terror he felt at the sight of Jessica's fall was a bitter reminder of this truth, this nagging necessity.

Peter somehow looked past these walls, and the angry facade Wildstar put forth to the world, and he called him on it. Peter lived with similar, feral thoughts in the long shadow of his Mother's death, but his family would not release him from his emotional obligations. Jessica was the key to his re-balance and his ability to reclaim his life. She wouldn't abandon her brother to isolation or self-loathing.

Peter knew Wildstar was alone, and the walls to his heart would only thicken without intervention. He couldn't see himself as a worthy friend if he left Wildstar to such a fate. Thus, was the request, the responsibility of family, afforded to Wildstar. It was, so he could chip away at his walls and learn to find a way around them. It was, so Wildstar could find purpose beyond the ruins of his own family. A man with bonds had something to fight for beyond duty or obligation.

The eternal struggle. One path would make him a better soldier. The other, would make him a better man. The soul had room for compromise, for a partial of each, but not the whole of both. Which to choose? Death in battle seemed much less painful than to endure the bitterness of the human condition. Oh, God, to have a heart of stone!

There were no answers for the questioning blue eyes, even as they shimmered like pools of water rippling in the sun. Wildstar was silent. His relief left him without the urge for confrontation or even the desire for words. He simply turned and met Nova's soft, brown eyes. He stared into them as he approached. Realms of safety, they were. A refuge of acceptance, a shelter of understanding, if he would only dare.

She smiled at him. She was pleased by his tenderness. The heart won this small conflict, but the soldier lay in wait. Another time.

He left the room and brushed passed Nova in the doorway. She turned and walked beside him. Her fingers brushed against his as she walked with him. Finally, he took her hand and held it. There were no glances exchanged between them, no words. Rarely, did they need words. Another victory for the heart, but the soldier always kept count.

* * *

Jessica raised her hand gently and touched the blanket. Her eyes followed Wildstar as he walked away. Words of appreciation rested at the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't force them out. She locked eyes with Hardy as Wildstar passed him. He was standing quietly just outside the door.

He nodded his head with a tentative smile. She responded in kind.

He finally moved away from the door and disappeared somewhere in the hallway. She settled back into her vigilance, left alone with the pulsating sounds of Peter's life through a multitude of plastic tubes and electric things.

* * *

"I need you to do something for me." Conroy's back was to Wildstar as he removed his holstered weapon from his belt and placed it in the same, orderly position in his locker. Conroy shut the locker door with some force. Not enough to slam it, just enough to emphasize the seriousness of the pending conversation.

Wildstar looked up at him from his prone position on his bunk. Their bunks were across the gangway from each other and their lockers next door to one another. So, as the mission progressed, they had no choice but to get to know each other. At least, enough to speak frankly when circumstances demanded. Conroy turned and sat on his own bunk, then looked at Wildstar very seriously before he spoke. "I need you to stop brooding."

Wildstar released a controlled breath and stared at the bottom of the bunk above him. It wasn't a subject he wanted to broach at the moment. Conroy ignored Wildstar's unyielding countenance and continued.

"I know this whole thing with calling our families back on Earth has been difficult for you. I'm sorry for that. If you think about it, it hasn't been any easier for those of us that have family left back home. It's still about saying goodbye to people we love."

"I'm not brooding." Wildstar didn't hide his irritation. He associated the word he repeated with a woman's emotional reaction, and it was insulting.

"Okay." Conroy leaned on his legs and clasped his hands in front of him. "I need you to stop sulking!"

"I'm not sul..."

"You made Nova really upset, and that's just mean. I feel responsible for it! I told Nova to get you before you missed your opportunity to talk to your family. She was going out of her way to do something nice for you, then you hit her with that ton-of-bricks about not having anyone to call! How were we supposed to know? You never talk about them!"

Wildstar was silent. He didn't meet Conroy's eyes, but he felt Conroy glaring at him.

"You're an idiot." The comment was obviously meant to get a reaction out of Wildstar, but he stubbornly refused to oblige. "Everyone on this ship has lost someone! Including me!" Conroy sighed and pushed his hand through his short-cropped hair. He was frustrated. He was thinking. _'I can almost smell the smoke!'_ Wildstar thought to himself. "You're a leader, Wildstar. You have people looking up to you and depending on you, and you're freak'n them out!" Conroy paused. "Hell, you're freak'n me out! So... stop it!"

The words finally drew Wildstar's attention and he met Conroy's eyes. Conroy was right. He failed to realize how his attitude might impact those under his command. It could undermine his authority and diminish confidence. _'And Nova...' _he thought, _'Way to go, stupid!' _

He stared at Conroy, who leveled him with an intense, sobering glare. "Your people need to know you're okay. That way, they know everything else is okay. Get it?"

Wildstar nodded.

"There have been times I've wanted to smother you in your sleep, but for some reason, that girl still likes you! You owe her an apology. Understand?"

Wildstar imagined Conroy annoying his younger siblings with a similar 'big brother' speech. He wondered if Alex would be saying the same thing. "She likes me?"

Conroy ignored his question and carefully removed a photograph from the wall behind his bunk. He handed it to Wildstar. "I gave you my letter, in case something happens..."

Wildstar raised his eyebrows as his eyes widened. "Isn't it bad luck to..."

"Yes, I'm taking a huge risk. Now, shut-up and listen! I need you to do one more thing. If something happens to me, I want you to look out for them." Conroy nodded toward the picture in Wildstar's hand. Peter Conroy was in the center, a toothy grin plastered across his face. His long arms were wrapped around the necks of his younger, shorter siblings. They, in turn, made faces as if they were choking in Peter's embrace.

Wildstar sat up in his bunk. "Nothing's going to happen to you, Conroy!"

"Right... So, will you do it or not?"

"Of course! If that's what you want."

"Cory is pretty solid and squared away. He has some direction." As Conroy continued, Wildstar inspected the motley trio in the photograph with some trepidation. "It's Jessica I worry about. If we weren't on the verge of extinction, I would have killed her a long time ago!" Wildstar smiled at the comment. "She tries too hard. She thinks she can take care of herself!"

"Takes after you!" Wildstar met Conroy's eyes. "Why me?"

"Because you're a pain in the butt, and I don't think I should have to suffer alone!" Conroy paused, and Wildstar sensed more sobering words on the horizon. "They could be family to you... if you wanted. They're infuriating and completely dysfunctional..."

"That explains a lot..."

"But, they're good kids."

Wildstar smile broadened. He was touched and honored at the request, but he didn't know how to respond.

Conroy must have anticipated such a reaction. He quickly filled the uncomfortable void with an ultimatum. "If you tear-up or say 'I love you, man', I swear, I'll punch your lights out!" He glanced at his watch. "Day's a' waste'n!"

"Huh?"

"You heard me! Nova is probably off her shift by now. I'll bet she's getting dinner in the galley. Perfect time to go and apologize! You know, before you forget."

"I don't... I mean... Now?" Wildstar stuttered. "I don't know what to say!"

"Hmmmmmm," Conroy said thoughtfully, as he rolled his eyes. "Just tell her the truth! How 'bout 'Hi, Nova! I'm a big jerk, but I'm working on it!' Simple. To the point."

"I... I think..."

"Don't think! Out!" Conroy pointed toward the exit with a forceful arm. "If you think on it too much, it'll never get done!"

"You can be so damn pushy!" Wildstar rose reluctantly from his bunk, like a child enduring the punishing glare of an angry parent.

"Only when I'm right! You can thank me later." Conroy called after him.

Wildstar knew he would find little peace until he met Conroy's demands. He left the bunk room as he worked his apology over in his head. He missed his big brother, at times like these. He always seemed to know what to say.

* * *

Time passed, but she had no concept or awareness of its passing. Had it been minutes? Hours? She didn't know.

She studied Peter's hand before her. Even now, after a year in space, it was rough and callused, just as she remembered. It was a reflection of the satisfaction he found in working with his hands. His latest endeavor was evidenced by the black material beneath his short fingernails; it was something left over from his work on his fighter. When they were young, his hands bore traces of the outdoors. Chalk, dark earth, and the red dust of sandstone etched his palms and marked his skin. _'God, how he loved to climb,' _Jessica thought.

"I remember you..." she whispered and her thoughts drifted to a time before the bombings, a more innocent time.

"Do you trust me?" Peter asked.

"No..." Jessica hesitantly shook her head as she clung like Velcro to the rocky outcrop.

"Well, now is a good time to start!"

"I don't think I can go any higher!" A slight breeze swept over her and sent a chill through her. Her pajamas and robe offered little protection against the dry mountain air. She pressed her body into the deep, red sandstone. The rock still retained remnants of heat from the setting sun.

"Yes, you can! You are fearless to the point of stupidity! Just like me!"

"Dad is going to be really mad if he finds out!"

"He won't find out, unless you tell him! Look at me!"

She slowly lifted her head and met his eyes. He was reaching down to her with the same rough and callused hand. Just beyond it, she could see his broad smile, fueled by his boundless confidence.

"C'mon! It's worth it! I promise!"

"What if I can't get down!"

"I'll make sure you get down!"

Jessica sighed. It was the same every time. Just a little bit higher. Just one more step. Why did she follow him on these midnight excursions? In the woods beyond their backyard, critters with fur and claws and teeth and fangs roamed freely. However, she couldn't help it. He was her big brother, and she would follow him anywhere.

She slowly lifted her hand and grasped his. With the strength and resilience of an older teenager, he lifted her from her narrow perch in one smooth movement. Carefully, gently, he set her down and she settled to her hands and knees, taking a moment to get her bearings.

"See? What did I tell you?"

She lifted her head and looked to the night sky above them. "Peter... wow..." It was beautiful and miraculously infinite. The top of the stone edifice provided them with an unobstructed view in every direction, high above the tall pines. There were few man-made light sources near their wooded home. Their father liked his privacy. It made for wonderful viewing at night, but staring through the trees from the suspended deck of the house could not compare with Peter's view from that rocky outcrop. She could see why he loved it so. Why he kept reaching. Why he kept climbing. The stars were so bright, and so close, they could be standing among them.

Peter offered his hand and he helped her to her feet. She clung to his arm, unsteady and unsure, but completely memorized by the endless cascade of stars.

"I'm going out there some day!" He pointed to the night sky. They witnessed the brief streak of a falling star. "I'm going into space!"

Jessica sat down. She wasn't afraid of heights, but even a slight breeze made her feel uneasy on her feet. Gazing off where her brother was pointing, she replied, "I don't know why you want to go there, Peter! Dad says, it's a vacuum! Nothing can live there!"

"We don't know that! Maybe God lives there!"

"I don't think so! I think he would be very lonely up there by himself!"

Peter sat down next to her, crossing his legs. "I think he has lots of company up there! Mom is up there. Grandmother, too! I'll bet he has more company than he knows what to do with!"

Jessica looked at him in the moment of silence between them. Coyotes howled and bayed in the distance, lending an eerie tone to the night. "You talk to her sometimes, when you're alone..."

The smile slowly faded from Peter's face, but his eyes never left the sky. "Yes."

"Does she ever talk to you?"

"No..."

"Yeah... me neither." Jessica's gaze returned to the sky. "Me neither..." she whispered to Peter's unconscious form in the hospital bed.

"How long has it been since you've eaten?" The whisper was barely audible over the ventilator. Jessica looked up to see Hardy standing in the doorway. It seemed she had heard that question many times before, but this time, she honestly couldn't answer. She didn't remember.

"I'm not hungry..."

"Awe, yeah you are," his voice was soft and smooth with his Southern lilt, "You just don't know it yet!" His gentle smile was casual and a little lopsided as he whispered, "This is mah' Grandmotha's famous sweet potatah' pie! It's been a _whole_ year since I had one!" Hardy glanced down the hallway, then he tiptoed into the room with a plate covered with a napkin. He pulled up a chair and sat before her. "Ah' saved a piece, just for you! No one can be mad or sad when they bite into this little slice of heaven." He pulled away the napkin and held up the plate, presenting her with a neat slice of fluffy orange substance framed by a golden brown crust. Hardy passed the plate close to Jessica's face, allowing the sweet aroma to drift to her nose. "One bite!"

She sighed as she shook her head. "I'm too tired, Jefferson."

"Well, then, you can go back to sleep, but you gotta' eat first." He took the fork from the container. "It's got whipped cream!" He could have sold a used car with his enthusiasm. "Tha' real stuff, none of that low-fat crap!" He leaned forward and whispered to Jessica, "Mah' Grandmotha' says, 'if you're going to be bad, you might as well be really bad!'" He carefully scooped a small piece onto the fork and held it close to her lips.

"C'mon, little bird! Don't leave me hang'n here."

Jessica paused, studying his smile through her exhausted haze. She hesitantly leaned forward and put her mouth around the fork. She closed her eyes and let Hardy pull the fork back gently. The soft, sweet substance melted in her mouth. The texture was cool and pleasing. She opened her eyes and returned Hardy's broad smile. He was right, and he knew it. She was really hungry, and it was really good.

"Alright then, little bird," he said with satisfaction. He started to scoop another piece from the plate, but she stopped him with a touch to his arm.

He met her eyes, just as she felt a tear slide down her cheek. "Jefferson," she whispered, "I have to..." she paused and swallowed hard. "I have to tell you something..."

Hardy's expression became very serious. "No." He shook his head slowly. "No, ya' don't! Ya' don't owe me an explanation for anything."

She bowed her head, completely overwhelmed. She didn't deserve his kindness. She didn't deserve his love.

"You're exhausted," he whispered to her, "an' your blood-sugar bottomed-out hours ago. We gotta' take care a' you, so you can take care a' Peter. C'mon now. Take anotha' bite for me. Mah' Grandmotha' always remembers to add a little love and some heal'n magic. I promise you'll feel bettah'."

"Jefferson, I..."

"You hush now," he said softly, scooping up another piece with the fork. "Less talk. More pie."

Again, she leaned forward and took the fork into her mouth, savoring the taste and the splendid intimacy of the moment. She was hungry, but she ate very slowly, unwilling to hasten his exit. The scene repeated itself several times, until only crumbs remained.

Hardy set the plate aside and pulled the blanket snug over Jessica's shoulders. She laid her head on the bed at her brother's side, so she could feel him stir if he awoke. Hardy promised to stay with her until she fell asleep. "It's going to be alright," he said softly as he stroked her hair. "It's all going to be alright."

* * *

To Be Continued

Chapter 12 – Guardian

Author's Note: Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Star Blazers is owned by Voyager Entertainment.

Beta Reader: Sybil Rowan! Thanks again!

Date Written: February, 2011

Word Count: 5608


	12. Chapter 12 Guardian

_**Guardian**_

* * *

It was early morning. The breeze was dry and cool, almost frosty. The sun was rising over a flat horizon in the east, illuminating the thin, wispy cirrus clouds sweeping gently across a crimson sky, like long, tentative brush strokes. Night was slowly transitioning into day. The same timid light bathed the spires and hogback formations of red sandstone, projecting majestically from the rolling, green landscape. They appeared almost blood-red in the growing intensity of sunlight.

Peter stood at an outlook on the Northern Trail. He surveyed the sight before him, admiring God's creation as if it was a renowned masterpiece in a museum. His boots scraped across the gravel as he moved. It was a familiar sound, one which reminded him of summer days spent traversing lessor traveled paths, winding through smooth, eroded sandstone. He squatted and grasped a mixture of red, powdery sand and gravel from the ground. It was pleasantly cool in his hand. Small granite pieces sparkled cheerfully in the morning light.

The sound made by the worn soles of leather boots against gravel was unmistakable. Peter looked over his shoulder. A man was approaching. His form moved smoothly through the shrubbery along the trail. He was tall, with the lean build of an accomplished athlete. Long arms swayed with his stride and jean-clad legs moved beneath a flowing, weathered duster, which had seen far too many days of use.

Peter observed the man with quiet, curious wonder as he approached. He waited for the obscuring shadow to recede from the man's face. The man had a striking familiarity: a strong, set jaw, broad shoulders, and a tough, rugged appearance about him.

"Did you think your sister was the only one who knew all of your hiding places?" The rough voice was the final piece.

"Dad?" The shadows fell away from the man's face with the dim, but sufficient, light of the rising sun. Peter studied him. Despite the rugged, weathered creases carved into the man's skin, the face resembled his own.

His father had little patience for shaving. He often wore two or three days of stubble before taking a razor to it. A habit born from too many sleepless nights spent in disaster and humanitarian relief units, where the work took precedence over the dress code. His lack of patience extended to the professional attire often worn by doctors. He resembled a man with intimate ties to open, unpopulated spaces. He was a medicine man by trade, a frontiersman by heart. However, his professional frontier was medical research. After the death of his wife, Peter's mother, it was his obsession.

"This place held significance for you." His father's voice was strangely calming in its familiarity.

"I decided to go to the Academy here..." Peter hesitated before he continued. Something seemed strange, and eerily out of place. "...but I never told you that." The man beside him seemed younger than the man he left behind on Earth. It was not the same figure worn down by age and a lifetime of struggle on a dying planet. He was the strong, intimidating figure Peter remembered from his youth.

'Dying planet...' Peter thought, and he closed his fingers around the earth in his hand as he stood. 'The Garden of the Gods was a cratered wasteland now, just like the rest of Earth's surface.' It's majestic sandstone formations crumbled to dust by years of planetary bombing. Its breathtaking titian reduced to the same radioactive orange which plagued the rest of the planet. Yet, everything seemed so real: the feel of the breeze against his skin, the earth in his palm, and the cool, clear smell of the morning air.

Peter looked at his father standing next to him. "This is a dream."

"Something like that," the man replied. His eyes were on the rock formations rising through the fog settled in the valley before them.

Peter opened his hand, allowing the red earth to stream between his fingers. As he watched it fall, he realized, he didn't remember how he had gotten there. Knowing his father was a man of few words, Peter finally asked what he feared most. "Am I dead?"

"No."

"If this isn't a dream and I'm not dead, then what am I?"

"Not dead."

"It doesn't feel like a dream."

"It will. If you wake up."

"Will I wake up?"

"That's up to you."

"How are you here?" Peter pressed, increasingly dissatisfied with his father's vagueness. The man finally looked at him with his expressive brown eyes. They were the reason he didn't need words. They had a way of speaking without them. "You're dead."

"There isn't much time."

"For what?"

"For what I have to tell you." His father's words had a strange serenity, but they made Peter feel uneasy. It was as if the news of being dead wasn't really news at all. He somehow had time to grow accustom to the notion. "You must forgive her, Peter."

"What?" A sharp pain suddenly shot through Peter's head, and he winced.

"She's doing what I taught her to do, what I asked her to do."

"I don't understand!" Another piercing sensation shot through his head like an electric current. His vision blurred momentarily. He pressed the heel of his hand into his right temple, hoping to subdue the pain.

"Jessica needs you. Forgive her."

"Forgive her for what?" In the same moment he heard his own words, another searing pain shot through his head. This one was blinding, and it persisted without relief. Peter pressed hard against both of his temples, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry, Peter." His father's words faded in and out of an excruciating ring. Overwhelmed by the pain, Peter suddenly dropped to his knees. The ringing burned into his ears. Strange. He could feel the prickly sensation of gravel against his knees. He felt his father's hand on his shoulder. "It's not over. If you want to live, you'll have to fight."

* * *

Nova studied the monitor at the nurses' station in the ICU. She was searching the medical records for Peter's file. Doctor Sane provided Doctor Randal with a verbal medical history from the mission, but Nova wanted to double-check with Peter's historical data.

The task should have been simple and quick, but Nova's curiosity was peaked when she discovered three entries under the Conroy name. Peter and Cory were listed. Those entries made sense in a military database, but the third entry was the father, and the father was a civilian. _'Was the father treated here?' _she thought as she attempted to access the file. She was immediately greeted with a warning screen. Her request was denied. The file was secured. _'Strange that there would be data on him here...'Why?_

Before she could go further with her investigation, a patient status screen flashed before her. There was a slight rise in Peter's vitals.

"What is it?" asked Linda, the head nurse in intensive care. She was returning from another patient's room, but she was on her way to the next one.

"It's Peter Conroy. His heart-rate is up."

"Significantly?"

"No, but his temperature is up too."

"It could be the leads. They can give false readings if they slip."

"Do you want me to check them?"

"I would be grateful!"

Nova entered Peter's room very quietly. Jessica was alone with her brother, and she was sleeping soundly. Her head rested at his side. Nova checked the monitors beside his bed, recycling each of them. She turned to Peter and began to inspect the leads attached to his torso.

Jessica sat up abruptly, and she gasped. She jumped like a scalded cat. The sudden movement startled Nova and she jumped back, bringing her hand to her mouth to muffle her own reaction. She stared at Jessica in shock.

Jessica looked down at her hand where it rested upon Peter's. Then she stared at Nova. Her expression was blank, as if she was trying to gather her wits, but Nova studied Jessica's eyes for a moment. They shimmered with a kind of terror Nova had only seen in the eyes of wounded young soldiers confronting their own mortality. "Jessica?" Nova pulled her hand from her mouth. "What is it? What's wrong?"

The young woman suddenly stood from her chair and nervously touched her brother's body at different points. She placed a delicate hand upon his chest, his neck, then the side of his head, pausing with each touch, lost in what seemed like intense concentration. Nova watched her in a stunned, but curious silence.

Finally, Jessica whispered, "It's not right..."

"What?" Nova stepped closer to hear her.

"Get a doctor!" Jessica's whisper was harsh, but barely audible. When Nova failed to move, Jessica met Nova's eyes with a frightening intensity. She shouted this time. "Get a doctor!"

"What is it, Jessica?" Nova persisted.

Jessica screamed. "Get a _doctor_!"

Nova was not one to panic, but Jessica's reaction shook her to her core. Her eyes were still locked with Jessica's as she hesitantly backed away, nearly stumbling over her own feet. The soft beeps from the vitals monitor indicated another increase in Peter's heart rate. Something _was_ wrong. Suddenly, Nova turned and ran, calling out the code for an emergency.

* * *

Doctor Sane pored himself a celebratory glass of saki, which was his usual custom following an especially difficult surgery. It would be the first of many, so his recent memory would slowly recede with his consciousness. He studied the glass he pored for Doctor Randal. It was full of the pleasant formula, which banished his troubles, but the good doctor was attending to his other patients. A shame to let it go to waste. He reached across the table, grasped the plastic glass and slowly pulled it to him.

He settled back into his chair with a long sigh and slowly brought the glass to his lips. He paused to savor its aroma. Moments such as this should be appreciated. Unfortunately, the union wasn't to be. Frantic calls propelled him aloft from his reclined position. Most of the saki found its way down the front of his shirt. Before he could blot it with a handful of sterile gauze, Nova gathered him up and ushered him out the door of the doctor's lounge.

"Nova! What the..." Doctor Sane didn't hide his irritation at being manhandled by his nurse, not even when she shoved him through the door of the ICU. This was nothing new. It was just easier to take when he wasn't sober.

Formalities were forgotten as Jessica placed her hand over the right side of her head. "Here!" Jessica seemed stricken and frightened as she looked at Doctor Sane. "Here! It's not right!"

Doctor Sane stared at her with obvious confusion. "Are you in pain? Is that what you're trying to say?"

Jessica quickly placed her hand over her brother's head in relatively the same place as she demonstrated on her own. "It's pressure! Here! It's getting worse!"

Doctor Sane approached Peter's bedside and analyzed the readings on the vitals monitor. "There's an increase in his heart rate, Jessica. That could be the result of several things." He lowered Peter's bed to a workable height for his short stature. Then, he carefully went about auscultating Peter's vitals with his stethoscope.

"It's here!" Jessica's hand was still on her brother's head. "The cause is here! If you do a CT..."

"What?"

"A CT! A CAT scan! If you..."

"I know what a CT is!" Doctor Sane's patience in his sobriety was running thin. "I'm not doing one on an asymptomatic, post-surgical, patient, based on a slight increase in heart-rate! That's ridiculous!"

"There was an increase in temperature as well!" Nova said.

Doctor Sane glanced over his shoulder at Nova. "You shouldn't be encouraging her!"

"It's getting worse!" Jessica raised her voice at the doctor.

"He's stabilized now!" Doctor Sane raised his voice in response. "What he requires is rest and recovery! If you interfere with that, I will have you removed!"

"You're wasting time!" Jessica whispered to him.

"Be quiet!" He snapped, then he went back to counting Peter's respirations. Peter was breathing a little fast, but, not unlike the increased heart-rate, it could easily be attributed to the diminishing affects of anesthesia.

"It's pressure... pressure..." Jessica persisted, and she seemed to struggle with finding the words. She leaned over her brother's body, and grabbed the Doctor's hand. "Doctor Sane, please!"

"How? How can you know?" In the interest of protecting his patient, and perhaps his pride, Doctor Sane wouldn't yield without good reason, even under the tearful gaze of vividly blue eyes.

In her desperation, words escaped her. She looked up at Nova, silently pleading for her help.

"What are you saying?" Nova responded. As an observer, she often carried the voice of reason in such situations. "Is he bleeding in his head? Are you describing a hemorrhage?"

"Yes." Jessica nodded, she seemed to be calming herself.

"Doctor Sane, I understand you're trying to avoid stressing the patient after his ordeal, but perhaps this is about treating the family, rather than the patient."

"We should do the CT." A calm voice came from the doorway. Doctor Randal was still in his surgical scrubs. He was leaning against the door-frame with his arms crossed.

Disagreeing with Doctor Randal required tenacity, something which Doctor Sane lacked after several hours in surgery with the man. Doctor Sane released a long sigh from his pint-sized, balding frame. He should be halfway through his second bottle of saki by now and well on his way to a blissful buzz. He looked up at Nova and responded with only a terse nod. Jessica's shoulders slumped with relief and she grabbed his hand. "Thank you, thank you, thank you..." she whispered as he tried halfheartedly to pull his hand free.

* * *

As the scanner slowly moved around Peter's body, images flooded the computer. Thin, transverse slices of the cranial cavity were organized, cataloged, and presented to the watchful gaze of the two surgeons. As the images descended from the top of Peter's head and moved into the skull, contrast revealed a strange, light mass at its base.

"There." Doctor Randal touched the monitor.

"Is there something you want to share with me, Doctor?" Doctor Sane asked.

Doctor Randal's eyes were fixed on the images. He moved forward and leaned on the control panel. "Not really."

"Does this have anything to do with the cauterized scaring we found in the eldest Conroy?"

Doctor Randal remained quiet as he analyzed the monitor. "Let's just say, things have been really strange around here since you left."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Zoom in on this area here," Doctor Randal said to the robotic technician at the console. "I want a 3-D representation of the mass, with detailed coordinates and measurements superimposed."

"Damn it, Phil..."

"Doctor Sane, you'll find we have plenty to worry about without conjuring up any mysteries! What's that old saying? Don't look a gift-horse in the mouth? Without that scaring, that kid would have bled-out long before he made it to my table." Doctor Randal turned to face Doctor Sane. "It could have been that chunk of shrapnel we dug out of his belly! I don't know!"

"You've seen this before."

"Yes."

"And you aren't the least bit curious?"

"I don't have time to be, and neither do you! It is what it is."

"Okay, so what is it?"

"I wouldn't venture to guess."

Doctor Sane slapped his palm over his forehead, then pulled his hand slowly over his face, stretching his frustrated expression. Some things hadn't changed in his absence. Phillip Randal could still exhaust anyone with a circular argument.

"Are you assisting or sitting this one out?"

"What do you think?"

"C'mon, let's get scrubbed in!"

* * *

Admitting was obviously short-handed, but the waiting room was fairly quiet, with the exception of two women. 'A mother and a daughter,' Jessica surmised from a distance. The daughter was a concern. As the young woman leaned her head against her mother she appeared very pale. Not even her mother's gentle touch or soft words could ease her discomfort. She seemed distressed and she squirmed in her seat, constantly adjusting, as if she could not find relief in any position.

Jessica suddenly scooped up a basin from a nearby rack of medical supplies. She moved quickly to the pair. Jessica knelt before the young woman, placing the basin in the young woman's lap before her body convulsed to vomit. The young woman's body went through the violent motions, but the heaves were dry. There was nothing left in her stomach.

The mother held her daughter close and stroked her thick, chocolate-brown hair. "How long has she been like this?" Jessica asked.

"She's been feverish for a couple days, with a persistent cough. We thought it was just the flu! She was sick all night," the mother's voice was trembling. "We thought it would pass, but she hasn't been able to keep anything down!"

The young woman leaned back in her seat, obviously exhausted from an ordeal which seemed to have no end. Jessica reached up and palpitated the lymph nodes on both sides of the young woman's neck. She was hot to the touch. The nodes were angry, and swollen.

Jessica felt the young woman's frightened, tearful gaze on her and their eyes met. The young woman's eyes were dark brown, like her hair, but highlighted with bits of soft gold. They were full and expressive, not vacant and hollow, like her own. Even in her nauseated stupor, Jessica could see she was a beauty. Although pale and dehydrated, her cheeks were full with youthful promise. With the exception of her immediate ailment, the young woman was otherwise healthy. She was cared for, sheltered, protected...

Jessica felt a twinge of inadequacy, and the weight of her own appearance, diminished by hardship and exhaustion. Jessica too was young, but growing old far too fast. How she wished for the sheer simplicity and privilege of vanity.

"Has she been traveling in the last four weeks?" Jessica asked the distracted mother.

"We accompanied her grandfather to the sanctuaries for Chicago and Los Angeles about three weeks ago!"

"Does she have any other complaints? Abdominal pain? Chills?"

"Definitely chills! She's shivering one minute, then hot the next!" The mother replied. The dark-eyed creature heaved again, but the basin remained empty. When the young woman leaned back in her chair, Jessica pressed her hand to the woman's chest. Jessica was enveloped by the fervent sound of respiratory distress. Fluid was thick and smothering to the delicate tissues of the lungs.

"I'll be right back." Jessica rose to her feet. "They're short-handed today." The mother nodded her reply as Jessica turned from them.

The motion-sensitive fluorescents flickered on as Jessica entered the vacant laboratory. She filled her palm with disinfecting soap as she turned on the hot water. The sound of rushing water into a stainless steel sink was not loud enough to hide the sound of footsteps behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to find Nova standing in the doorway.

Nova had just left Peter's second surgery. A surgical mask was draped around her neck and she still wore the paper-like protective scrubs.

Jessica didn't speak. She continued to lather her hands, working the soap up past her wrists. She suspected Nova would be the one to lead-off this conversation.

Nova was silent until Jessica rinsed her hands and finally shut off the water. Jessica pulled towels from the dispenser and wiped her hands, but she kept her back to Nova.

"You were right," Nova began, "but you knew that, didn't you?"

Jessica found it much easier to evade probing questions when she wasn't eye-to-eye with the interrogator. She placed her hands on the counter in front of her and watched drops of water hit the bottom of the sink. The sound was steady, like a metronome, counting off the seconds.

"It was a subdural hematoma. Those were the words you were looking for, weren't they?" Nova stepped closer. "I'm certain it happened during the ejection. Shearing forces stretch and weaken the blood vessels between the meningeal layers of the brain. His blood pressure was very low when he was admitted, so we didn't catch it before he went into surgery. When his blood pressure stabilized, the weakened vessels eventually ruptured."

More silence. Jessica knew Nova was awaiting a response.

"It was early enough... Peter will have no lingering affects..."

Jessica tossed the towel at the trash receptacle as she turned to face Nova. She leaned against the counter behind her. "There's a mother and daughter in the waiting room..."

"How?" Nova interrupted.

"Oh, here we go!" Jessica crossed her arms and looked down at her feet.

"How did you know?"

"How did I know what?"

"How did you know about the bleed?"

"An educated guess?"

"Signs and symptoms for a cranial bleed usually manifest themselves when a patient is conscious!" Nova counted them off on her fingers as she listed them. "Headache, slurred speech, nausea, disorientation, dizziness... He didn't even have a seizure!" She paused, obviously awaiting a response. Jessica refused to oblige. "A seizure might have... How did you arrive at a cranial bleed from a rise in temperature and heart rate! I don't get it!"

Jessica gave her best, nonchalant, 'got no clue' shrug as she met Nova's eyes. "Okay, an uneducated guess."

Nova leveled an unsatisfied glare at her. "Doctor Randal wouldn't have contradicted Doctor Sane like that, unless..."

"Unless, what?"

"Unless this has happened before!"

"It was just a guess, Nova! That's all."

"But you're right most of the time... That's what he says..."

"I'm a good guesser!"

"You don't have the training..."

"My father was a surgeon with a serious weakness for hard-luck cases! I spent the last three years working with him in mobile surgical relief units! I didn't have the luxury of formal training. I didn't even graduate high school, but I learned to triage before I turned seventeen!" Jessica took in a breath, then exhaled sharply. "Now, are you hanging out here to harass me with ridiculous questions or are you here to be useful? Where's Linda? There's no one at the admitting desk."

"She's making her rounds in ICU..."

"You should find someone. Quickly." Jessica pushed herself from the counter and started toward the door. "There's a mother and daughter in the waiting room. They should be admitted and isolated for observation."

"What?" Nova asked as Jessica walked passed her. She knew the word 'isolation' would peak Nova's attention.

Jessica paused in the door-frame. "We saw this in Chicago. It's respiratory, and highly infectious. The young woman is showing full-blown symptoms, but I suspect the mother is still incubating. I would start them both on electrolyte replacement therapy immediately. It's going to be a long night. But, of course, you should make your own assessment." Jessica moved to leave, but she paused and looked back at Nova. "Where is the Commander?"

Nova threw her a confused look. "The EDF Commander? Commander Singleton? I'm sure he's overseeing the preparations for the launch of the Cosmo DNA!"

"You should contact him. He'll want to know."

"What do you mean?"

"That's his granddaughter out there."

"Jessica," Nova said softly, and Jessica paused at the sound of her name, "If there's something you want to tell me..."

Jessica's reply was lifeless and flat, but she shrugged with a slight smile. "I wouldn't know where to begin."

* * *

"You're wasting your time!" Jessica said as she approached Cory and Wildstar in the cafeteria. Words between them were hushed, but even from a distance, posture and body language gave the interaction away as an argument. "I told you, he doesn't know anything."

"But you do," Wildstar replied to her. "Peter is back in surgery."

"Yes, that's right." Jessica took a stand before him. She crossed her arms. "No more hiding in the ICU. You can deal with me properly now. Isn't that what you're thinking?"

"I was thinking we need to talk."

"I'm done talking! If you're going to have me arrested, get on with it!"

"Jessica!" Cory whispered. "He's serious!"

"So am I!"

"Let's not do this, Jessica!" Wildstar shook his head slowly. "Where are the drugs?"

"Exactly where they need to be!"

"That's not an answer! You need to talk to me!"

"Is that an order?" She stepped in close to him. "Do I look like I'm wearing a uniform to you?" She had to look up at him to confront him with her best menacing glare. Her attempt at intimidation would have been more effective with her older brother's towering stature.

Just as Peter had warned, she was infuriating. Stubborn as the seal on a pressurized airlock! She didn't seem afraid of Wildstar or whatever punishment he might brandish. Worst of all, she seemed to take some satisfaction in it.

_'Stalemate,'_ Wildstar thought. Jessica and Wildstar glared at each other with equal intensity. She was a Conroy, in every sense of the name. Wildstar could see it in her eyes. She had the same fire and tenacity as her older brother. No doubt, it was what she required to survive her position as the middle child in the Conroy family. Wildstar knew if he was going to remain responsible for her, this was a battle he couldn't lose.

It seemed only physical force would shake her from her position. _'Physical force it is!' _he thought and in one smooth motion, he swept her up on his shoulder and carried her out of the room. She kicked in protest and pounded his back with her fists, but he didn't stop until he reached the opposite wall of the hallway. He set her down and roughly shoved her against it.

She bumped her head and winced at the sting. When she opened her eyes, Wildstar was looming over her, and it shocked her. She jerked back, and bumped her head again. He was leaning against the wall with his hands on either side of her, blocking any attempt at escape. He glared into her eyes, his face only inches from hers. "You illegally obtained a military security clearance! You entered a restricted area under false pretenses! You destroyed military property _and_ took some of it with you on the way out! Is that about right?"

"You forgot about breaking and entering!" She was breathing hard from the struggle, and she writhed her body against the wall, obviously trying to put more distance between her and Wildstar's imposing figure. There was no where to go. She made an attempt to push past his arm, but he didn't budge.

"Now, you listen to me! You're going to tell me everything I want to know!"

"No!" She snapped back at him, meeting his eyes with determination in her own.

"Yes! Or, so help me God, I will put you _and_ your little brother in the brig!"

"I told you! He doesn't know anything! He never has!"

Wildstar sensed her weakness. Attacking her directly wouldn't be nearly as effective as threatening her family. "I don't know that, and neither do the MP's!"

"You'll be wasting your time, and you know it!"

"Well, time is what I've got! We can do this the easy way or the hard way! It's up to you! I have thirty days of leave to follow you around and make your life miserable! With special permission, I could probably stretch it to sixty! I _will_ find out, Jessica!"

Jessica's eyes widened. Wildstar knew she was thinking it over.

Suddenly, something dawned on him. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her arm straight. She fought him, but he was stronger. He pushed up her sleeve and inspected her arm, brushing his thumb over faint needle marks in her skin. He remembered them from when she donated blood for her brother, but they held no significance then. He looked up at her and she immediately read his eyes.

"You think I'm an addict? You son of a…" She jerked her arm free and shoved him hard, but he held his ground. "I'm a universal donor, you _idiot_! I don't have the time, or the resources, to be an addict." She pushed him again. "Even if I were, I wouldn't be shooting-up in the arm!"

"If you're not shooting it up, then what are you doing with it? Are you selling it? Trading it? What does that stuff go for on the black market?"

Jessica shoved him again. "Let me _go_!" she shouted as she struggled.

"Those drugs are military property! They're used to protect people like your brother! Look at me!" Wildstar grabbed her chin as he shouted. He pushed her head against the wall with just enough force to break the flow of anger and retain her attention. She wrapped her hands around his arm and they locked eyes.

"Wildstah..." He was suddenly aware of Hardy's presence nearby. His crew mate responded to the sound of angry words and was now a witness to the confrontation. For the first time since he had known the lanky Southerner, Wildstar sensed a measured threat in his voice.

Wildstar kept his focus on Jessica. "I didn't call security because I wanted to hear it from you first! I'm the best friend you've got right now! Stop fighting me!" He released her gently. "If Cory's involvement is even suspected, he will lose any chance at a commission! Is that what you want?"

"He might live longer," she whispered. Wildstar sensed her resolve was weakening under the pressure.

"I don't need your help, Jessica!" Cory shouted at his sister.

"Shut up, Cory!" Jessica shot back at him. "You might hate me, but at least you'll be alive to do it!"

"Enough!" Wildstar shouted. "Jessica, start talking!"

"You're a hero, Wildstar!" she said softly. "You don't need to get involved in this." Jessica glanced at her brother and Hardy. Wildstar sensed her reluctance to reveal anything to an audience. "Walk away."

"I'm not going to ask again!" Wildstar straightened and crossed his arms.

"I came back! I'll cooperate with whatever punishment you deem appropriate!" She raised her hand and pressed it to her chest. "It's all me. Only me."

Wildstar looked back at Nova. She was standing silently in the hallway. "Call security. I want Cory and Jessica Conroy detained for questioning."

"Stop…" Jessica forced a heated whisper at Wildstar before Nova could move. Wildstar met her eyes again. The anger in them seemed to fade into weariness. She shook her head slowly, never breaking eye contact with him. "I really hate you…"

A chill shot through him with her words. They had a surprising impact. It was a sickening realization of a shattered trust between them, but he maintained his emotionless facade. "That's fine!" His reply was cold. "As long as you don't lie to me!"

"You'll probably wish I had," she whispered as she turned from him and pushed him out of her path.

* * *

"Ah'm go'n with ya!" Hardy said to Jessica as she pulled on her jacket.

"No!" Jessica's response was immediate.

"Jessica, ah'..."

"I don't want you to go!" Jessica snapped as she turned to him. "Leave, Jefferson! Be with your family!"

Hardy was visibly stunned by her response. "No, ah'..."

"The best thing you can do is stay away from me!"

"Ah' don't understand!"

"You don't have to understand..."

"Ah'm not leav'n you!"

Jessica hesitated, looking down at her fingers as they held the zipper of her jacket. She was considering her words carefully, working them over in her head. What could she say to him? What could she say to drive him from her side? _'Make it sting,'_ she thought. _'Make it hurt. It's for his own good!' _She looked up at him, suddenly meeting his eyes. "Why are you here?"

"What?"

"Ask yourself! Why are you here? Are you here for me? For Peter?"

"Ah' thought..."

"You thought what?" She paused, waiting only seconds for a reply. "Is it because you think I saved your life? Is that it? If you're here for me, you're wasting your time!" Her voice was low, but her tone was harsh as she approached him. "Do you honestly think something can come from this? We kissed twiced!"

Hardy held up three fingers.

"Okay, but don't mistake appreciation for love!"

"Ah'm not a child!"

"That's good! Then, you can take rejection like a man!" She sensed the heat of rising anger in him, but he concealed it with the stoic discipline of a soldier. "You don't know me, Jefferson!"

"But ah' want to get to know you!" His voice remained low, almost gentle.

"No. You don't..." Jessica shook her head.

"Ah' want to help you if ah' can!"

Jessica stepped in close to him. She couldn't look into his eyes and speak her words, so she drew in closer, summoning as much strength and courage as she could. She pressed her cheek against his and she whispered close to his ear. "I don't need your help! I don't need you! What I did... What I did for you, Jefferson... was my job! That's all!"

She didn't wait for a reaction from him. She simply turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

Her words must have had their intended affect, because she didn't hear his footsteps behind her. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes as she passed her little brother in the hallway.

"Jess..." Cory whispered.

"Don't!" She raised her hand to him as she walked by him. She wouldn't meet his eyes.

* * *

To Be Continued

Chapter 13 – Fairy Tale

Author's Note: Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Star Blazers is owned by Voyager Entertainment.

Beta Reader: Sybil Rowan! Thanks again!

Date Written: May, 2011

Word Count: 5900


	13. Chapter 13 Fairy Tale

**Legacy**

**Chapter 13**

**Fairy Tale**

Their destination lay some distance from the military hospital. It was a long hike, but it was even longer with tense silence wedged between them. Jessica didn't volunteer any words, and Wildstar didn't bother coaxing any from her. The only sound was the echoing rhythm of their footsteps throughout the cavernous supply tunnel.

They finally emerged into the tentative light of a massive cavern. Wildstar stopped at the entrance of the tunnel and surveyed the sight before him. The crumbling ruins of an abandoned underground city lay before them. Some buildings were offset from their foundations, others brandished scares and cracks in their masonry as testament to their survival. Still, others were crumbled completely; silent reminders that man's work, no matter how advanced, was always temporary. The grade of the supply road was very steep. It was obvious these structures were closer to the surface and more susceptible to the radiation seeping into the earth.

The air was heavy and stale. Wildstar suspected the ventilation system at this level had failed or had been purposely shut down.

A dim, ghostly light filtered through powerful solar tubes in the ceiling of the cavern. At this level, solar tubes could still conduct natural light into the city. It was night on the surface, but the highly reflective coatings in the tubes could even disperse moonlight effectively. The streets and the walkways were still visible, but they were only outlines in the silvery illumination.

Wildstar picked up his pace to catch up with Jessica. She was navigating her way through the debris of crumbling buildings. Her head was down as she trudged forward. She seemed oblivious to her surroundings, showing more interest in the placement of her feet than in the strange scenery around them. It seemed, she had done this trek many times before.

It wasn't hard to see the building was once a hospital. The floors were tiled. Torn, dusty privacy curtains hung like cob-webs from the ceilings. Their forms cast eerie shadows over abandoned beds, overturned tables, and broken implements as a pale light streamed through shattered windows. There was a path worn through the dust on the tile, a sign of footprints. Wildstar sighed with some relief. There were other people here.

Jessica made her way to a stairwell at the back of the room. She opened the door and entered, but didn't wait for Wildstar. He caught the door, just before it closed, and followed her up several flights of steps.

"We've never used the first few floors." Jessica kept climbing steadily. Their footsteps were heavy and loud on the stairs, but she didn't turn to him when she spoke. "This part of the city has been abandon for several years now. They don't look for us here."

"Who doesn't look for you here?" Wildstar asked, but instead of answering his question, she forced open the stairwell door, and he was momentarily engulfed by a flood of artificial light. When his eyes adjusted, Jessica was walking down an aisle between rows of occupied beds. He looked from one side to the other and was stunned to see row after row of beds extending into the distance. Few were occupied. Some held adults, but most of the blankets covered smaller forms... children.

"Doc?" A young woman looked up from her patient. "Jess! What... what's going on?" Her eyes widened as she stared at Wildstar. "Please tell me this is a friend of yours!"

"Don't worry about him!"

"You can't just..."

"Not now, Kate! Did you do what I asked?"

"Of course! As much as I could!"

"What about the doctor?"

"You know doctors! They make the worst patients! Maybe you can talk some sense into her!" She pulled a handful of syringes from her pocket, then separated them into two hands. "These are for Doctor Alexander." She handed Jessica the syringes in her right hand. "These are for Megumi." She gave Jessica the remaining syringes.

"Megumi? I thought... Is she hurting?"

"Not anymore... She wanted to see you again. She asks for you when you're gone." The woman paused and gave Jessica a very serious look. "I couldn't..."

"I'll take care of it!" Jessica snapped.

She turned and left the young woman without words, and Wildstar followed. The woman stared at him as he walked by, and he reciprocated with an equally intense stare. Jessica walked to a row of privacy curtains near the wall. She quietly pushed the curtains aside and looked in.

"Greetings, child." A woman's voice rose from the draping fabric.

"Doctor Alexander." Jessica pushed the curtain aside and entered the enclosure. Wildstar remained outside, but he observed the the interaction between the two through the opening in the flexible barrier. Her breathing was labored and she was very pale. "I understand you're refusing your medication again." Jessica sat down in a chair at her bedside. She closed the computer in the woman's lap and set it aside, then she went about taking the woman's vitals.

"That stuff makes me sleepy, and I like to know what's going on!" She stopped Jessica with the touch of her hand, and they looked at each other. "Your brother..."

"Peter."

"Peter. How is he?"

Jessica nodded. "You know that hard head you were always joking about? It came in handy this time."

She smiled. "Didn't I always say..."

"Your greatest drawback can be your greatest asset!" Jessica finished her sentence as she went back to checking vital signs.

The doctor noticed Wildstar outside the curtains. "Now, who is this young man?"

Jessica didn't answer until she completed her counting. Jessica glanced at him. "Don't try to change the subject! Your breathing is rapid, your pulse is fast, and you look like you haven't slept in a week! I'm guessing you're in a lot of pain!"

"There are others here who need it more!"

"Yes, but we have enough now! I've seen to that!"

"Come in! Come in!" The woman gestured to Wildstar with a pale hand.

"This is Derek Wildstar," Jessica said flatly. "He's a member of the..."

The woman's eyes brightened. "The Star Force!" She pushed herself up in the bed until she was sitting up. "I read about you and the others! You were under Captain Avatar's command!"

"Yes, ma'am," Wildstar replied as he offered his hand to her. They shook hands. She moved her legs over and patted the bed in a gesture for him to be seated beside her, since extra chairs were lacking. Wildstar politely obeyed.

Jessica sighed with frustration. Obviously, his visit was a distraction from her preferred topic.

"I was very sorry to hear of his passing!" Doctor Alexander smiled, and she touched Wildstar's hand. "He was a very good man."

"You knew him?"

Jessica intervened. "Captain Avatar came to us for treatment many times."

"Treatment?" Wildstar began, but Jessica anticipated his question as she took a syringe from her lap.

"He couldn't go through military channels." She reached for the port on the Doctor's intravenous drip, but the feisty woman attempted to slap her hand away. "If they would've known the extent of his illness, they would've questioned his ability to command and he didn't want that."

Jessica finally grabbed the Doctor's wrist and gently forced her arm to the bed. She emphasized the gesture with a commanding glare. "Doctor Alexander is the leading researcher in cancer therapy, when she's not driving me crazy!"

"I'm leading by default!" Doctor Alexander's smile was weaker now. "Everyone else is dead."

"Cancer?" Wildstar asked.

Jessica glanced at him over her shoulder as she injected a port just below Doctor Alexander's saline drip. "That's right, Derek. Didn't you know? Radiation sickness is just the beginning."

Wildstar ignored Jessica's pointed statement and smiled politely at the Doctor. "I'm honored, Doctor Alexander!"

"The honor is mine, young man. Please, tell me you bring us good news! How soon will we be able to see the sun again?"

"The news is good, but I'm afraid I'm not privy to the time-line, ma'am. Our technical officer is overseeing preparations."

"Ah," she smiled, "best to leave it to the experts!" She patted him on the hand. "Now, what brings you here? Are you having trouble? Are you ill?"

"No, ma'am." He glanced at Jessica. "I'm just trying to understand."

"Understand?"

"Yes. What is this place? Who are these people?"

"You've been off-world for a long while."

"Yes. All of my assignments after the academy have been off-world."

"That's very fortunate." She touched his cheek with the back of her hand. It was pale and cool against his skin. "Good color. You look very healthy. These people haven't been so lucky." The doctor sighed and sunk back into her pillows. The medication was taking affect. "They have no voice, and no home... "

Jessica sighed as she stood from her chair. "That medication is making her sentimental." She walked past Wildstar and touched his shoulder on the way out. It was her silent indication for him to follow.

Wildstar stood and noticed the Doctor was fighting to keep her eyes open. When he walked through the curtains, Jessica paused at the opening. "Please try to rest, Doctor Alexander. We can't have you wearing yourself out!" She grasped the curtains and closed them in one sharp movement.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." came the Doctor's fading reply. Wildstar glanced at Jessica in time to see her roll her eyes. She sighed indignantly.

She turned and started walking, brushing past Wildstar as she mumbled, "I swear... that woman is going to drive me to drink."

"I heard that!" Doctor Alexander snapped.

"Funny... I could say the same about you," Wildstar said as he walked beside her. "This is it? You're caring for refugees?" he asked, but Jessica didn't answer. She seemed distracted by her thoughts. She suddenly stopped and froze him with a very serious look. "Do you have any experience with children?"

"What?" The question caught Wildstar by surprise.

Jessica glared at him. "Children! You know… Little versions of adults?"

"Uh..."

"It's not a trick question."

"I WAS one once! Does that count?"

"Close enough." She grabbed his arm and pulled him in the direction of a shadowy, secluded corner. She jerked back the privacy curtain, revealing a small bundle tucked beneath several layers of blankets. Dark wavy hair peeked above the folds of blankets. Small brown eyes followed them as Jessica led Wildstar to a chair next to the bed. Colorful drawings decorated the walls and fluttered gently when the ventilation system kicked in.

"Megumi, you have a visitor today." Jessica pointed at the chair, and Wildstar obediently sat down. "Derek Wildstar is a member of the Star Force. He's going to sit with you a while."

"What?" Wildstar looked up at her.

"I have some things to do. I'll be back."

"Wha... Where are you going?" Wildstar stared at Jessica. He could feel the intense reflex of unmitigated terror stretch across his face. Battling Gamilons and the quest for Iscandar was much less daunting than the task of entertaining a sick child.

Jessica's patience was running thin. Slowly, calmly, she placed her hand on his shoulder and tightened her fist around a handful of his uniform, until her hand trembled with the strain. She pulled him to her with a slight jerk and whispered through clenched teeth. "You're a hero to these children, Derek! _Act_ like it!" She suddenly released him. He anxiously watched her walk away and slip through the opening in the privacy curtains. Prickly anger or not, Jessica was still a better alternative than facing delicate innocence.

Wildstar sat there for a long moment, rigidly aware he was being studied by the pair of soft brown eyes. They peered at him over folds in the blankets, studying him with curiosity as he nervously tapped his fingers against his knee. He searched below the privacy curtains for signs of Jessica's boots, but to no avail. "Hello," a small, sweet voice came from under the blankets.

Wildstar looked at the little creature, finally meeting its eyes. "Hello." He was surprised by the high pitch of his own response and he quickly cleared his throat.

"I don't bite!" Tiny hands pushed the covers from its face, revealing the vividly charming smile of a little girl. She slowly rolled over on her side, facing him. A small, stuffed bear was strangling in her embrace. "Do you?"

"What? Bite? No."

"You went to Iscandar?"

"Yes."

"You should tell me a story."

"A story?" Wildstar hesitated at the unexpected request. "I don't think... I don't know any stories."

The brown eyes regarded him suspiciously. He could feel himself blushing under the scrutiny. Wildstar could withstand the menacing glare of Captain Avatar, but this little imp reduced him to quivering jello. "You've been all the way to Iscandar and back, and you don't know _any_ stories? It must have been a really boring trip!"

"Well, no…" He stumbled over his own thoughts, wondering what might be age-appropriate content for one so small. "Um… okay… um…" Wildstar scratched his head. The thought of disappointing the child, or even scaring her, was more than he could take. _'What if I make her cry?'_ he thought, and he pulled at his constricting collar. "The Argo… I mean, the Star Force…" Perspiration trickled down his face. "Captain Avatar…" He swallowed hard. "Is it hot in here?"

"You don't have kids, do you?"

"What?" Wildstar blinked, surprised by the insightful question. He didn't recall being that smart at her age. "No… no kids…"

"That's okay. You can practice on me. You're supposed to start with 'once upon a time'."

"Once upon a time?"

"Yeah, all the classics begin with 'once upon a time'."

"Oh..." Wildstar nodded thoughtfully, and he smirked. He fought the urge to laugh at her adult-like vocabulary. "Once upon a time..." He tried the words as he carefully considered where he might begin.

"Did you meet Queen Starsha?" Megumi pointed to one of her drawings on the wall, a tall, slight figure in a blue dress with long blond hair.

"Yes!" Wildstar smiled as he glanced at it.

"Was she beautiful?"

"Yes, very beautiful! Like your drawing! Her hair was longer, though. All the way down to her ankles!"

"Her ankles?"

"Yes, all the way down to her ankles!" Wildstar's tenseness began to ease when he sensed the little girl's interest. He began to recall the fairy tales of his own childhood, wondering how he might construct something similar from the mission. "She was very tall and graceful. She didn't make any sound when she walked. It was almost like she floated!"

"Wow… like an angel!" The brown eyes widened.

"Exactly like an angel." Wildstar smiled. "Would you like to hear a story about Queen Starsha?" The little girl nodded with encouraging exuberance.

Wildstar smiled with delight, but it was relief he really felt. He finally had somewhere to begin. "Well, um… once upon a time," he said softly, "on a planet far, far away, there was a beautiful queen in a great castle overlooking the sea, and her name was Starsha…" The little girl rewarded him with a broad smile and snuggled into her pillow for his tale.

* * *

Jessica watched them quietly from the distant shadows. Wildstar motioned enthusiastically with his hands and arms when his words required dramatic emphasis. His expressions were exaggerated, almost comical. Under any other circumstances, the awkward tenderness emerging from the young officer would have made Jessica smile, but she stood at a distance, her arms crossed and her jaw set.

She listened as he described the great halls of Queen Starsha's castle and how the colored glass of the windows sparkled and scattered breath-taking colors on every surface. Jessica was momentarily captivated herself. It must have been such an incredible sight after suffering the dull, monotonous orange of the Earth's cratered surface. On Iscandar, the skies were so very blue, the oceans cyan, and the hills were green like clover. Megumi had never seen clover, but Wildstar's descriptions were vivid, almost beautiful. They were more than sufficient for the fertile imagination of a little girl.

As Wildstar continued, he recounted the great hospitality of the Queen herself, and how she wished the children of Earth could see such beauty in their home again. He spoke of the Queen's sister, Astra, and her bravery as she attempted to deliver a message to Earth. With surprising delicacy, he described the Queen's stoic grief at the news of her sister's passing, and finally her loneliness on a planet vacant of human life, a Queen without a court, a ruler without subjects to rule.

"I hope this story get's better!" Megumi said. "I don't want the Queen to be sad!"

"Well, one day, on this far, far away planet, a ship fell out of the sky and crashed into the ocean. Queen Starsha discovered a survivor on the beach near her castle. She found Prince Alex lying in the sand."

"Whoa, really? A prince fell out of the sky? Did he come to rescue her?"

"No! Prince Alex was very sick when she found him. It was Queen Starsha who rescued him!"

The child gasped. "Just like an angel!"

"Yes, just like an angel!" Wildstar laughed softly and nodded. But she was also a very strong and independent woman, you see?"

Jessica finally allowed herself a smirk. She shook her head at his comment._ 'He's doing fine.' _Jessica thought, but as she watched, the smile slowly receded from her face. The scene conjured memories of her father's awkward attempts at such domestic necessities after her mother passed. He tried, but he spent more and more time with his work as Jessica grew. As flawed as he was, she still missed him.

A familiar wave of nausea suddenly overwhelmed her. It was nagging and persistent. Suddenly, she couldn't fight it anymore. She rushed to the seclusion of a dusty storage area and bent over a trash receptacle. Her body rejected the meager contents of her stomach and continued to do so, even when nothing remained.

She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket and leaned against the wall behind her. There was no strength in her legs to stand, so she slid down the wall and dissolved into a heap on the dirty floor. She would do what she had to do. Despite everything. Even if there was no place for her in the world to come. It would be alright. As long as she had enough time to do what mattered.

She finally had the solitude she so desperately desired. In the sheltering darkness, waves of sorrow swept over her. They were oscillations from past events, but also dark omens of things to come. She cradled her head in her hands, muffling the desperate sobs which escaped her. It was a strange, but beautiful release to sink into the very depths of her sorrow.

* * *

"What's going on over there?" Captain Avatar's voice was gentle, but loud enough to be heard over the baby's cry.

Jessica nervously rocked the infant in her arms. Her frustration was growing. It seemed the child had been crying forever. "I'm sorry, Captain! I didn't mean to wake you! He was going to wake the others if I didn't take him." Jessica replied, then she whispered to the infant. "What? What is it? You've been bathed, changed, fed... It's time to go to sleep! I don't know what you want!"

"I was already awake. Come here with the child." His voice was rough and gravely, but strangely soothing.

Jessica slipped through the privacy curtain while gently bouncing the child in her arms. "You should be resting, Captain."

His ample beard was a distinguished, silvery-white and it hid any expression on his face, but his dark eyes were shiny and bright. She suspected he was smiling at her. She tilted her head to the side and smiled back at him as he held out his large hands. "Come here," he said.

"You know, you can't keep coming to my rescue! I have to learn some of this stuff for myself!" She came forward and placed the sobbing bundle into his hands.

He lifted the child to his broad shoulder and patted it gently on the back. "They never seem to come with a book of instructions, do they? It was trial and error and many sleepless nights for my wife and I when my son was a baby."

The little bundle burped twice, and Jessica closed her eyes and sighed with a realization. "Of course!"

Captain Avatar gently reclined the child until it was cradled it in his arms. The baby was silent, its large blue eyes staring up him, seemingly fascinated with all of that hair.

Jessica enjoyed her visits with the Captain. No matter how the old man felt, he was always neatly trimmed, smelling of shaving cream and mild cologne. His full head of hair was silvery-white like his beard. She found great solace in his company. He always had time for her and he never seemed to tire of their conversations. Her own father couldn't even look at her anymore, and when he did, he didn't seem to see her.

"Here. One more trick." Captain Avatar laid the child in his lap and repositioned the blanket until the tiny form was bundled snugly into a cocoon. "This is called swaddling. It makes them feel more secure. It worked like a charm on my son!"

"Oh, thank you, Captain! I don't know how you do it!"

"It's just a little experience, Jessica. God willing, you will get there!"

Jessica nodded. "I'm going to have lots of practice! It seems there are more orphans every day!"

"What's his story?"

"I think he's from Chicago. His parents were in New York when it was bombed. They never came home. The caretaker dropped him by here on her way to find her own family. He's young and he's healthy, which will work in his favor when it's time to find a home."

"Well," the Captain said as he gently cradled the child in his arms, "it's not today. Perhaps he could stay and keep me company?"

Jessica placed her hand on his arm. "I would be ever so grateful to you for watching him! He sleeps so much better when he is held!"

"So do I!" Captain Avatar replied with a smile, never taking his eyes from the baby.

Jessica smiled at the pair. They seemed perfect for one another. The child gazed at him in silent wonder, occasionally reaching for the Captain's beard with a tiny, uncoordinated hand. "Are you feeling well? Do you have any pain?"

The Captain shook his head and he glanced at her. "Only a little pain, but he should take care of that. Don't you worry now! We'll be just fine."

* * *

To Be Continued

Chapter 14 – Lullaby

Author's Note: Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Star Blazers is owned by Voyager Entertainment.

Beta Reader: Sybil Rowan! Thanks again!

Date Written: May, 2011

Word Count: 3978


	14. Chapter 14 Lullaby

**Legacy**

**Chapter 14**

**Lullaby**

Wildstar smiled at Jessica when she finally returned. It was an accomplishment for him to successfully entertain the child on his own.

"It's time to get some sleep, sweet angel!" Jessica bent over the little girl and kissed her on the forehead. Little arms reached out for her and Jessica hugged the little girl tight. "Are you hurting?"

"I'm alright..."

Wildstar sensed a strain in Jessica's voice, as if something was weighing on her and draining her strength. He regarded her face in the dim light. It was pale, almost chalky. "Jessica..." She responded quickly with a terse shake of her head, implying the need for discretion in front of the child.

"Goodnight, Derek." The little voice was a gentle whisper. Her dark brown eyes shimmered in the dim light. The walls around his heart crumbled like brittle stone. "Thank you for the story!"

"You're welcome, little one. I'll have another one for you next time!"

He watched with amusement as Jessica pulled back the covers, revealing pink pajamas dotted with teddy bears. "Arms under the covers!" The little girl obediently pressed her arms to her sides. Jessica straightened the IV tube leading to the little girls hand before she pulled the covers over her. She proceeded to tuck them around the tiny frame until the covers were tight around the tiny bundle. "All tucked in?" Jessica asked and the little girl nodded.

Wildstar smiled. It seemed getting 'tucked in' was a literal expression, as well as a figurative one.

She knelt at the child's bedside and leaned in close to the little girl. "Will I see angels?" The little girl said softly to her.

Jessica smiled hesitantly as she brushed Megumi's dark hair from her eyes. "Of course, but you have to shut your eyes." Megumi quickly squeezed her eyes shut. "Are they shut tight?" The little girl nodded. Jessica took in a deep breath as she stroked the child's cheek with her finger. Then, softly, she began to sing.

_When all the clouds darken up the sky-way_

_There's a rainbow highway to be found_

_Leading from your window pane_

_Just a step beyond the rain_

_Somewhere over the rainbow_

_Way up high_

_There's a land that I heard of_

_Once in a lullaby_

Wildstar quietly rose from his chair and left the enclosure, but he lingered close by, listening. He loved to hear her voice in the fullness of a melody. Even in the hushed tone of a lullaby, it was elegant and strong.

_Somewhere over the rainbow_

_Skies are blue_

_And a dream, the dreams that you dare to dream_

_Really do come true..._

Wildstar's eyes took in the details of the facility around him. The walls were cold and damp, like the cracked concrete floors. Paneling and insulation dangled haphazardly from the ceiling. Lighting was makeshift and scant. Wires were strung along paneling, wrapped around bed frames and hung from the paneling frames in the ceiling in an effort to keep them from underfoot.

In this scene of deterioration however, there were patches of warmth. Hopeful signs, like candles burning in a distant window on a moonless night. Strategically placed space-heaters kept the cold and the dampness at bay. Iridescent lighting chased the shadows from dark corners. The light was strangely comforting and the room took on a warmth and a pleasantness which was obscured by its initial impression. They did the best they could with what they had.

He suddenly sensed trembling in Jessica's voice. He glanced at the pair through a fissure in the curtains. Megumi was fighting to stay awake. Her tiny head jerked once or twice before her chin settled against the blankets.

_Someday I'll wish upon a star_

_And wake up where the clouds are far behind me_

_Where troubles melt like lemon drops_

_Away above the chimney tops_

_That's where you'll find me_

_Somewhere over the rainbow_

_Bluebirds fly_

_Birds fly over the rainbow_

_Then why, oh why can't I?_

_If happy little bluebirds fly_

_Beyond the rainbow_

_Why, oh why can't I?_

She attempted to walk softly, but he could hear her footsteps as she approached. When she joined him outside, there was an uneasiness about her. He couldn't quite place it. When she finally spoke, her words were vacant of emotion. "I need you to do one more thing." She walked past him and he followed. She stopped him with her hand against his chest before he entered the supply room with her. "Wait."

Sounds emerged: Shuffling, rustling, the faint sound of glass clinking together. Wildstar waited patiently in his designated spot until Jessica finally returned. She took Wildstar's hand in hers and pressed something small and cool into his palm. He held the item between his thumb and forefinger and drew it closer for examination. It was a small, glass vial with clear fluid inside.

"You have access to the Commander."

"Yes."

"You give that to him. Only him. No intermediaries, no assistants or secretaries."

"What is it? What do I tell him?" Wildstar inspected the label, but the words meant nothing to him.

"Promise me!"

"Of course! But..."

"He'll know." She pointed toward the door on the other side of the room. "It's time for you to go. You can find your way out, can't you?"

Wildstar nodded. "Yes. Jessica..."

"I have work to finish." She turned from him and walked away.

"I still don't understand this, Jessica!"

She paused and looked back at him. She whispered, "You don't have to understand, but you do need to go!"

"Refugees? Is this what it's all about? You should have come to me! I would have _given_ you what you needed!"

"It's not that easy..."

"Why not? Why can't it be that easy?"

"Don't you see?" Her whisper was harsh, and she glanced around her to see if she disturbed anyone. "I don't have any answers for you. My father, or any of the other doctor's who died, didn't leave me any. I don't understand why things are the way they are..." In that moment, she seemed very tired and she seemed to have no patience for his questions.

"Let me help Megumi in some way," he whispered to Jessica. "I can help with the other children too."

Jessica didn't respond. She could hardly look at him. "If you want to help someone, get the vial to the Commander!" Again, she turned and walked away.

"Jessica…?"

She finally whipped around and glared at him. "You can't come back here! You can't..." Wildstar knew the confusion on his face was evident to her. She raised a long arm and pointed to the stairwell door. "I've compromised far too much by bringing you here! You have to go!"

Wildstar hesitated, debating whether to continue the argument, but he could see she was wearing thin. She would only withdraw from him if he pursued her for answers. Silently, he turned and went to the way they came in. When he glanced over his shoulder, Jessica was also walking away. She didn't look back.

His footsteps were the only sound, and it was hollow and shallow, as if it lacked purpose, or harbored doubt, regarding his chosen direction. The dim light of dawn timidly pored through the solar tubes, illuminating the dilapidated structures around him. He stopped in the middle of the old service road, just before the tunnel. He looked back at the crumbling hospital building in the distance. Lights were obscured by blinds and covers shielding the windows. Only if you were searching for it, would you notice there was life.

'_Ridiculous!' _ he thought. _'This entire drama! All of this secrecy! Those people need more help than what Jessica can give!'_ Perhaps he was in a position to get it for her. The crew of the Argo were heroes. They now had influence. What was the use in having such power if it couldn't be put to good use?

Peter prepared him for her stubbornness, the savage way she clung to her distrust and independence. This time, she would have to swallow her pride and accept what he could offer. At the very least, for the sake of the children under her care.

He would tell her these things, and she would accept them. He played out the scene in his mind as he turned and started back to the crumbling building. He would tell her she didn't have a choice. He was going to help her whether she liked it or not. He crossed uncharted space, and he stood between Earth and her destruction at the hands of a relentless enemy. If he had to stand between Jessica and her pride to help those in her care, he would do what he had to.

He opened the stairwell door slowly, hoping to manage the creaking sound of hinges misaligned by the crumbling foundation. Jessica was not readily visible. He surmised, she was attending to a patient enclosed by privacy curtains.

He walked lightly, slowly, so his footsteps wouldn't disrupt the silence. The utter stillness gave way to a faint sound, and Wildstar stopped in his tracks to trace its origin. It was intermittent and soft, but also unsettling to him.

Weeping, the echo of grief. Something inside him shifted and settled like a heavy weight. His legs were suddenly heavy and tired. It was a feeling he couldn't fully grasp and he hesitated, but only briefly. He moved forward and followed the sound. It drew him to Megumi's dark, secluded corner. He hesitated before the privacy curtains.

He finally pushed the curtains aside and found Jessica seated in the chair next to Megumi's bed. Her head was bowed deep, her shoulders slumped, and her hands covered her face. "Jessica?" he whispered. Then his eyes fell upon the little girl's tiny form.

Jessica gasped as she looked up at him. Her eyes were red, her cheeks flushed. It was the first color he had seen in the young girl's face. Her sadness suddenly erupted into fury and her eyes flared with a familiar spark. She rose to her feet and lunged at him, shoving him hard through the curtains, away from the enclosure.

"I told you to go!" Her whisper was harsh, berating.

"These people need..."

"I said, no!" She suppressed her voice with clenched teeth. "It's better for you! It's better for them!"

"I'm bringing back help, whether you like it or not!"

"These people have been through _enough_! No one else comes here! No one!"

Wildstar hesitated. "What is it? What are you not telling me?"

Jessica turned from him. She briskly walked to the supply room. Wildstar followed her, but before he could enter behind her, he was slammed in the stomach with the old leather backpack. It was still full with ampules and vials, and they clinked together with the impact. Wildstar haphazardly caught the bag in his arms before it dropped to his feet.

"Take it! Take it and go! I'll find a way to replace what I've used!"

"No, Jessica, this is not..."

"I won't be in debt to you! I won't owe you anything... especially answers!"

"Why do you fight me? Why do you fight me every inch of the way!"

"Because you can't save everyone!"

"I'm just trying to help you!"

Jessica stepped in close to him. "You can't help me! You can't help them! No one can! Get it through your thick skull!" She hesitated and Wildstar watched her raise a hand to her forehead. It was trembling. A realization struck him. She fainted in Hardy's arms. She was ill in the medevac. Wildstar assumed it was the stress of her brother's rescue. He softened his voice. "You need to rest."

She sighed with exhaustion and lowered her voice in response. "I can't! This isn't a hospital anymore, Derek... it's a hospice. Do you understand the difference?"

Wildstar was silent. He heard the word 'hospice' before, in distant conversations, but it had no meaning to him.

Jessica paused, taking in a deep breath. He sensed she was bracing herself. Uneasiness pulled at him with gossamer threads. "People go to a hospital to live... they come here to die..."

Wildstar gasped softly. A sudden chill shot through him. He stepped back from Jessica, but he kept his eyes locked with hers. "Megumi?" he shouted over his shoulder. The long pause was filled with only Jessica's hushed demands for his silence. "Megumi!" he shouted again and when there was no answer, he dropped the bag to his feet and turned away from Jessica. He rushed to the child's enclosure with Jessica in pursuit. She grabbed at his arm, desperately urging him to stop.

He jerked free of her, with the ease adrenaline afforded. He ripped the privacy curtains out of his way, nearly pulling them from their rails and rushed to the child's bedside. Bending over the tiny form, he touched her face with gentle fingers and urged her to wake up. When she failed to respond, he put his ear to her face. She wasn't breathing! He grasped her tiny shoulders and shook the child gently. "Megumi! Megumi, answer me!" The shaking grew more insistent.

"Stop it!" Jessica grasped his arm and pulled at it. "Please... stop it!"

"She's not breathing!" Wildstar jerked his arm from her, then turned on her. "Do something!" He took a step toward her, attempting to intimidate her with his towering stature. "Do something right now!"

"I... I can't..."

"She was fine!"

"No, she wasn't... "

Wildstar took a step toward Jessica, but he hesitated when something cracked beneath his feet. He looked down. Syringes. They had fallen from Jessica's lap when she lunged at him. They were empty...

Wildstar looked up very slowly, as if disbelief had struck him over the head and left him dumbfounded. "You... You did this?" Shock weakened his knees and his throat went dry.

Jessica didn't answer. She seemed to sense the fury spooling within him. Hesitantly, she took a small step backwards. Her stare, her expression, was cold, emotionless. Her face was eerily serene.

"_Tell me _you didn't do this!" Again, only silence. "The drugs you took from the Argo… This is what they're for?" Jessica held her ground, but she averted her eyes. The apathy he sensed in her silence only fueled his anger. "Is _this_ what they're for?" He shouted, and her body jerked as if his words slapped her across the face. His voice echoed in the room and cries erupted from startled children.

She stood before him, staring down at his feet, wrapped in her stoic silence, as if it would shield her in some way. He could see this was not her first verbal onslaught. She seemed to understand how to dig in and weather the rage. If she could remain silent, without provocation, she might survive the storm. He stepped toward her again, leaning into her as if he might strike her. "What gives you the _right_?" His thoughts were coming so quickly he couldn't verbalize them fast enough.

She lifted her hands to him. "Don't... " she whispered.

"This is a _child_!" He pointed forcefully to the small form beneath the covers. His eyes searched her face for a reaction. At least, some sign she understood the significance of his accusation.

Finally, her stoic demeanor yielded to his scrutiny and cracked like brittle glass. She seemed to hover on the jagged edge of tears, but she would not pacify him with useless words.

"What gives you the _right_!" He finally grabbed her by the arms, shaking her abruptly with each agonizing question. "Why? _Why_ would you do this? Why would you do this _now_?" She opened her mouth as if she would speak, but nothing came forth. Instead she placed a trembling hand against his chest, attempting to steady herself. She pushed against him, weakly trying to put distance between them. "You used me..." Wildstar choked hard on his words as he swallowed back his tears.

The moment his rage broke with grief, Jessica looked up at him. A faint word escaped her. "No... "

"I was a distraction for her... Is that it?" More silence. Was there nothing she would say to save herself? He suddenly released her and turned away from her, shaking his head. "Whatever this is... you made me apart of it! You..."

"You made yourself a part of it when you demanded I bring you here!"

"Damn you!" He turned back on her again as he hissed through clenched teeth. "Are you trying to teach me some sort of lesson? Are you punishing me? Please tell me there's more to it than that!"

"Stop it!" Jessica closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. "It didn't have anything to do with you... you were just... here!"

"I was convenient!"

"You were the best I could do! She deserved something genuine, something sincere! She deserved a prince... a hero... a damn fairy tale!

Wildstar stood straight, breathless from his attack. "You didn't tell me! You didn't _warn_ me!"

"You'll remember her! She deserves to be remembered!"

"I would have remembered her anyway!" Wildstar's voice was a desperate whisper. He felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes. The anger within him was heat and pressure and it pushed against his insides. He wanted to push her off balance. He wanted to draw sorrow and regret from her like blood from a fresh cut. Without forethought, or even caution, he attacked what he knew was dearest to her. "Are you planning to take care of Peter, too?"

Jessica froze and nearly leveled him with her eyes. They were suddenly filled with a strange, icy darkness, and it sent chills through him. He knew, in that moment, he touched a nerve, so deep and so delicate, she had forgotten it was there.

"Get out!" She shouted, and forcefully pushed him away from her. Commotion erupted around them as more patients stirred.

Wildstar awkwardly caught himself before he fell backwards. "You stay away from him!"

"Get out!"

"Stay away from the hospital!"

Wildstar had never been tempted to strike a woman, until that moment. His body was shivering as he tried to keep his emotions in check. He wanted to scream at her, shock her. He wanted her to feel what she had driven through him, but somehow, he resisted. He gathered his shattered grief, forced down his rage, and turned away from her. His fists clenched, his shoulders fixed, he stormed away.

Jessica followed him as he retreated to the stairwell door. "You can't tell anyone about this place, about these people! Do you understand? Don't come back here!" She called after him. He forcefully threw open the stairwell door and went through it. She stopped at the threshold, and he felt her watching him as he descended the stairs.

Before he disappeared under the next flight, he paused and finally looked up at the silhouette in the doorway. Her frail frame was a shadow darkened by the light behind her. It seemed fitting. In that moment, she was only hollow blackness, lacking in human emotion or expression. He launched his final barrage. "How many is this for you? Do you even remember? Do you even keep count?"

"Do you?" She swung the door shut. The walls shuddered as it slammed hard against its frame. Wildstar was suddenly alone in the inky darkness.

Jessica stood in silence, her fists clenched, and her body trembling with anger. For a moment, she could hear only the sound of her breath. She focused on it, desperately trying to stem her desire to appease her rage. A violent outburst would do her fine! A loud scream or a swift kick, if she could find something that wouldn't break her foot. However, those under her care had been traumatized enough. Deep, steady breaths would have to do.

She slowly turned around, pushing the loose strands of her hair away from her forehead. She started to walk away from the door, but she suddenly froze and caught her breath. Her heart skipped a beat before it seemed to stop altogether. The pounding in her head went silent. Jefferson Hardy stood before her in complete and utter silence.

She knew immediately. She sensed it in his posture and in his expression. He heard everything. He saw everything. The confusion, the hurt, and the disappointment on his face were the proof.

The sudden realization of her discovery sent a chill through her body. It dropped into her stomach like hot, burning lead. Nausea rose within her. What could she say to him? She grasped silently for words... anything to take back that moment, to erase it from existence. She reached into the hollow blackness of her soul, searching for strength, but she was spent. Whatever was between them was crumbling and Jessica was powerless to stop it. She was getting used to the bitter taste of helplessness. Finally, she did the only thing she could do. She stared past him, almost through him, and forced herself to walk forward.

At the moment she was shoulder-to-shoulder with him, he finally spoke. "Jessica..."

She stopped and finally took in a deep breath because until that second, she had forgotten to breathe. "I tried to tell you..." she interrupted, as if the words were on the tip of her tongue.

"Yah' didn't trah hard enough!" he snapped.

Anger flooded back into her, renewing the strength in her trembling legs. "I don't know what to say to you!" She met his eyes with an icy glare. She was her father's disappointment. She would be her brother's soon enough. She wouldn't be Jefferson's too. "I can't be... what you want! I'm not who you left behind!" She felt the weight of judgment and betrayal in his presence. She swallowed hard, but her eyes never wavered. "So... you take that judgment you're about to make and you leave this place!"

He shook his head slowly, then finally looked at the floor. "I cannot abide by this," he spoke softly, as if to himself.

'She clenched her fists, as her festering anger finally burst forth in her words. "Do you have any idea what it's like to live with metastasizing cancer? _Do you?_"

Jefferson was silent. He wasn't as easily provoked as Wildstar. When he met her eyes again, he spoke softly, but his words were hard enough to break her heart. "'Ah think 'ah know a little sumthin' about pain, Miss Jessica."

Jessica released a long, trembling sigh and looked away from him. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the look on his face, but it lingered in the darkness. "I know you do, Jefferson. I know…"

"Yah' don't know 'nuthin! 'Nuthin a'tall! There were days when 'ah begged fah' death!" She felt him staring down at her. "Yah' could've spared me tha' afta'math!"

"I know more than you think!" Jessica snapped.

"Why? Why did yah' save me?"

Jessica suddenly met his eyes. "Because I could!"

"And tha' woman with me? Frodo? Did yah…"

"Did I what, Jefferson?" Jessica turned to him with shock in her eyes. She waited for him to speak, but he wouldn't say the words. "Oh, God!" She threw up her hands. "They took it from us!" Jessica's voice cracked. "Everything we had to help these people... They took it to ensure the survival of a chosen few." Jessica wanted to avert her eyes from his, but she couldn't. Only he could stare into her, as if her soul was naked and raw before him. "It was in her bones, Jefferson... It was in her bones, and it was breaking them slowly." A tear slipped down her cheek and she finally looked away, trying hard to hold back the rest. She caught the tear with the back of her hand. "You should go..." She started to walk away from him, but she hesitated when he spoke.

"The chosen few..." he said softly. "What did yah' mean bah' that?"

"You never got sick, did you?" She said softly, over her shoulder. "Even when your body was so severely compromised after your accident, you never suffered with radiation sickness."

Jefferson's attention was suddenly drawn by the sobs of a frightened child climbing out of a nearby bed. He quickly went to the child's bedside. Jessica followed, but Jefferson reached the child first and he gently hoisted the sobbing little boy into his arms.

Jessica's protective instincts urged her to take the little boy from Jefferson's arms, but she hesitated. The young soldier held the boy with a confident, experienced demeanor. He patted Christopher's back with a gentle hand and whispered something, which quieted the wailing into occasional sobs. The child pressed his tearful face against Jefferson's broad shoulder, muffling his cries.

Jessica finally reached for the child, but Jefferson pulled away. "Ah' have 'em!" Before the question passed her lips, he seemed to read it in her eyes. "Ah' had a whole herd of little cousins to look afta' when ah' was a young'n." Christopher's small hands desperately grasped fistfuls of Jefferson's black uniform, which still bore the signs of fatigue and wear from the mission. He had not been home to change, much less, greet his family.

Jessica reached for the little boy again, and again Jefferson refused her advance. "Ah' said I have 'em!" He raised his voice to her and Christopher began to cry again. She took a step back, surprised and wounded by Jefferson's firmness. "Yah' right, Miss Jessica!" His whisper was harsh, almost venomous. "Ah' don't know yah'! Ah' don't know ya' a'tall! But, yah' don't know me eithah'! At least, not enough tah' trust me!" The hurt in his eyes struck her hard. He turned sharply from her and walked away, fully engrossed in the consuming chore of calming a frightened child.

The distance grew between them, like a gaping chasm, eroded by weather and the vastness of time. Desperation and pride demanded she lash out at him. She wanted to scream at him, provoke him into an argument, because any words, even in conflict, were better than the silence that would remain. Logic prevailed over her thoughts and she turned away. Christopher needed him.

She imagined the wind; born from raging thermals on the naked surface of Earth, howling through the sharp, jagged edges of lifeless stone in that chasm between them. It would drown out any sound she might make to bring him back to her. She sensed, very soon, it would be far too wide to cross, and there would be no meeting in the middle.

To Be Continued

Chapter 15 – Resolution


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